WEBVTT

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Another untitled poem.

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Consonant with sound.

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All barges in low water.

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So the night begins again.

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Rain in a dream.

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Each face of the dream is moon
and sound, dream and water.

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No envy for an end.

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Still, the night makes
up sound, drifting

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of old loves, old houses,
old pictures within these.

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I could not so much
follow you as simply love.

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So into fear of sound I go.

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I find a face upon
a boat, low echo.

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