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Dec. 19, 1975
A malformed and much sophisticated world
it is, and I in my fi ftieth winter of it
with a few ordinary things known, matters of doing,
matters of desire, and there's the full moon
in the workshop window again,
with its old silent abruptness, light
held cleanly inside its fi rm rim,
lifting so clear and cold
over the wintering poplars -- scrawny
columns of brush upfountaining
through how many years? over
the worn and frozen lawn, grove
and grass burning white together