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Elegies on Autumn

  The Scientist 
  A delicate beauty,
So prism-burned, balanced
  Beneath deep grey skies
  And the ripe, apple air
--
The Realist
When will your barren brown
  Break forth again?
When will your leavings learn
  Love’s green again?

Oh, then will your leaf-branches bear me
  Aloft in the twilight
  Like sky-larks
  At dawn
  Flowing forth into flight
--
The Naturalist
There is something obscene
  In a window
There are things, still, that live
  Beneath leaves’ dark decay
--
The Realist
Worm-cored, we rot
--
The Scientist
We are fastened, like lichen, to dust
We are broken light
  Shadows of evening
--

Holy, then, the fool
  Who closes like an oyster-shell upon herself
And murmurs of the moon

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