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Red Breast

One robin standing among the young Herefords
there was, announcing an odd scale

and the rancher upon his grazing horse
sang them all a little tune—I began

to feel the swell.  The pasture was moving
from snow to browse—an incorporate

abstract wonder—while men in yellow suits
and burdened with mechanical hardware

walked along a traverse of powerlines.  There was
something powerful about this environment

that I still failed to sense.  A young doe
reclined on the median, making the separation.

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