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Hammer out a set
of poems:
This occupies a few
December 27, 1986
to my matilija
Where the canyon walls
Close in, and the air cools,
And the little green trout fl ick and hover
In the clear green pools
Between the falls
Where that sturdy solitary, the slate-gray dipper, year round, sings
Till the steep stone rings
Is where I'll go, still unforgiving
Of others' and my own poor past
(How keep my mind clear and not curse
Doings that make life worse?)
And be, Matilija, your lover
When I am dead, and at long last
Won't have to make a living.
As for the agony
Clenching in me:
My own and others' imperfection,
Killing delight ...
On those clear pools my own refl ection
Is broken light.