and the sun went with her:
black veil in golden light, which
is all the American beatitude.
Good morning, sir, God give
you peace by a broken jaw.
A slow walk to a distant car,
and the morning is
bright like winter—pressed
fingers on wheel leather,
and this is the day you
forget your music.
Humming is not like hearing,
and you are by no means a singer.
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