At six o'clock we were waiting for coffee,
waiting for coffee and the charitable crumb
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The brown enormous odor he lived by
was too close, with its breathing and thick hair,
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To the sagging wharf
few ships could come.
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Each day with so much ceremony
begins, with birds, with bells,
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Days that cannot bring you near
or will not,
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Here is a coast; here is a harbor;
here, after a meager diet of horizon, is some scenery:
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Although it is a cold evening,
down by one of the fishhouses
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Out on the high \
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Love's the boy stood on the burning deck trying to recite `The boy stood on
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Alone on the railroad track
I walked with pounding heart.
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Across the floor flits the mechanical toy,
fit for a king of several centuries back.
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The tumult in the heart
keeps asking questions.
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A new volcano has erupted,
the papers say, and last week I was reading
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Unfunny uncles who insist
in trying on a lady's hat,
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Oh, but it is dirty!
--this little filling station,
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In the cold, cold parlor
my mother laid out Arthur
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Still dark.
The unknown bird sits on his usual branch.
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The state with the prettiest name,
the state that floats in brackish water,
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The rain has stopped. The waterfall will roar like that all
night. I have come out to take a walk and feed. My body--foot,
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I am too big. Too big by far. Pity me.
My eyes bulge and hurt. They are my one great beauty, even
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I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
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In Worcester, Massachusetts,
I went with Aunt Consuelo
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The moon in the bureau mirror
looks out a million miles
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From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
please come flying.
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Remembering the Strait of Belle Isle or
some northerly harbor of Labrador,
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For Louise Crane
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[Given to Frank Bidart]
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For Thomas Edwards Wanning
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Earliest morning, switching all the tracks
that cross the sky from cinder star to star,
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Minnow, go to sleep and dream,
Close your great big eyes;
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