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water among the stones 85
An inordinate attachment
to the Matilija
Brought on these poems
with the grief
That love of a place
will come to
In time -- even
so unbeautiful
A place as this one,
Is -- or used to be,
till destroyed.
For what is one
to do?
-- Belittle the whole
And let it rot
in you. Or
Yield to homicidal
fury -- and
Kill whom? how many?
or take
That old man's way
up in Maine
Some years ago -- in
the fl ames
With his house, condemned
By the state, for the new
Or, as worker in a craft
and art
Nobody asked you
to take up,
Do what such a person
can do,