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  John Cornwall
   
     
 
The Fourth Poem
 
This is the fourth poem
In which I have lived with you
Without passion,
Language leaving us in silence.
 
Now, early morning
As the dawn birds sing,
I watch the opulence
Of the sun correct the universe,
 
Unknown pleasures visiting
Gracious as Buddha -
Or you - who sounds my name
As if the soul mattered
 
At 6 am, the morning
Bleak, the sun nothing more
That its own light,
Uncertain of time or space
 
Until the shadows fall colouring
Second after second and these words left,
This fourth poem in which
I have lived with you
 
Stone-dead on arrival.

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