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David Saffo

 

to pasture

 

I use the field            to ignore what is           not;

 

I’ll only stop to leave           the abstractions

 

(things we don’t need, never had, never mind):

 

we          need what           is real—you hunt too.

 

 

 

I’m going out      to fetch the little facts

 

left alone        in thicket               roots gone. Stolen

 

“It totters when she licks it with her tongue.”

 

stones are little facts—your hands too.

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