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The First Rain

 The first rain reminds me
Of the rising summer dust.
The rain doesn't remember the rain of yesteryear.
A year is a trained beast with no memories.
Soon you will again wear your harnesses, Beautiful and embroidered, to hold Sheer stockings: you Mare and harnesser in one body.
The white panic of soft flesh In the panic of a sudden vision Of ancient saints.

by Yehuda Amichai
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