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Walking
the cantor sings like
a young song leaping over
hills on oakland ave
treetops
vault over
englewood rapt with blossoms
my spring's cathedral
thirty
elms terrace
9th street sky the domes of day
the mosques of summer
everywhere
is
here every age is now
home is before me
out
of death the lightest life
the beauty is our
playfulness and forgetting
the
rose too sweet for itself
this breast too full
as the day too consummate
and
spacious to be anything
the contractions of stars
too intense to hold them
the dewdrop too heavy on
the leaf over the stream:
heart fall into my heart
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