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Naturally it is night.
Under the overturned lute with its One string I am going my way Which has a strange sound.
This way the dust that way the dust.
I listen to both sides But I keep right on.
I remember the leaves sitting in judgment And then winter.
I remember the rain with its bundles of roads.
The rain taking all its roads.
Young as I am old as I am I forget tomorrow the blind man.
I forget the life among the buried windows.
The eyes in the curtains.
The wall Growing through the immortelles.
I forget silence The owner of the smile.
This must be what I wanted to be doing Walking at night between the two deserts Singing.

by W S Merwin
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