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Todd Swift

Trees that have been there, always,
only trees, like music
that cannot go away, does not know how to

stay, in any park or street
of the mind, each appearing, each tree,
as a dream does, with laws

only it need not obey - going, coming
with the casual powers of wind, rain,
the trees that were there, pressing

on window, on eye, in winter,
in broad day, the time
walking home or running late. How sky

moved ceremoniously in their highness,
how one fallen was a loss, and omen,
on a path. Will they go on with me

into the country without leaf, will branches
shade me there, good company
in that darkening arbour.






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