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Dream Song 103: I consider a song will be as humming-bird

 I consider a song will be as humming-bird
swift, down-light, missile-metal-hard, & strange
as the world of anti-matter
where they are wondering: does time run backward—
which the poet thought was true; Scarlatti-supple;
but can Henry write it?

Wreckt, in deep danger, he shook once his head,
returning to meditation.
And word had sped all from the farthest West that Henry was desired: can he get free of the hanging menace, & this all, and go? He doesn't think so.
Therefore he shakes and he will sing no more, much less a song as fast as said, as light, so deep, so flexing.
He broods.
He may, rehearsing, here of his bad year at the very end, in squalor, ill, outside.
—Happy New Year, Mr Bones.

by John Berryman
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