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A day bears every weighted weightlessness
A day bears every weighted
weightlessness
the world can heap on it, and would bear all
as shadows flood: aside, there’s no redress
where no-one seeks. From the high brick wall
the last bird sings: a blackbird; knows no more
than the width and length of these two gardens
these two years past, and yet his evening store
of song is full as open day. Frost hardens;
star-fire, keenly cold, remote, expunges
loss. Through the dark a planet plunges.