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Those We Wish
At last we begin again, and then a new
World. Or, now there's sunlight pale along
The flooring, maybe the old one, good
Enough now, good enough forever. Or not.
At last is never the case, of course. At
Last is understandable only among
The numerous materials, the ones we
Work with, just enough for now. It seems.
At last seems a promise as much as seems.
Though I cannot make what it is I wait
By and with. Seems a promise of stones,
Since so many came through to the war.
When a man makes use of at last, which
He perceives is his own idea, his own debt,
Insolent, at times, that is those we wish
For appear at polite windows and see.
So, among the end the snow perhaps
Of winter even yet, the snow in corners,
In shadow. Angel innocence, dry hair,
My love gently sleeping, gently, at last.
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