THE OPEN WINDOW

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We all die in harness,

dragging sharp blades cross the belly of the earth.

But let me live one moment inside this welcome light

calling me now through the kitchen window,

the taste of coffee still on my tongue,

still sweet with cream.

Joy comes easily to me now, standing at my ease,

fields left unplowed, unseeded.

What remains is a joy there is no one left to claim.

A voice is heard calling a name I no longer answer to

and suddenly the moon is in the poplar tree with its companion

the first star.

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Photo of bee taken on the road to the White Salmon River.

Photo of bee taken on the road to the White Salmon River.

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