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Graydiggers Home

 Paw marks near one burrow show Graydigger
at home, I bend low, from down there swivel
my head, grasstop level--the world
goes on forever, the mountains a bigger
burrow, their snow like last winter.
From a room inside the world even the strongest wind has a soft sound: a new house will hide in the grass; footsteps are only the summer people.
The real estate agent is saying, "Utilities .
.
.
easy payments, a view.
" I see my prints in the dirt.
Out there in the wind we talk about credit, security-- there on the bank by Graydigger's home.

by William Stafford
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