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If, and when,
You remember
What you have
Not attended to,
Go. Or don’t.
Sit a spell. Wait
A while—it’s there
Yet : in the catalpa
With the crows.
Give up. Giving
Your only hope
Away is a thought,
Is in the spirit.
His dead are your
Friends. His dead
Are also your foes,
You forget. Ghosts
Is not quite right,
These whims,
These afternoons,
Gathered. They are
Not romantic
Notions : the field,
The tents in which
The word is spoken.
Drifting out between
The age and oaks. 
Posted 02/05/13
Originally published in The Hampden-Sydney Poetry Review.
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