In a cypress grove
aroused and all appalled
in sudden agony the soul
as wintering—a perfume closed
(the mind prophetic of some future state)
I feel the mark upon
my absent trouser leg—
the shin placed by the cog
the foot falling just so,
grand as life, small as the next act
cognition—recognition—soiled cloth.
I am forwarded
to you in kind—affection like
a magnet that induces the invisible
yet palpable attraction of its opposite
thus living and thus dead.
I begin thus with myself.
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