Landscape With Lovers

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From the Words of John Ashbery

Why shouldn’t all climate
and all music be equal
without growing?
I prefer “you” in the plural.
I miss the human truth
of your smile, and the feeling
of ascending emptiness
of the afternoon. The night
is a sentinel, deaf consolation
of minor tunes that pack the air
with heavy invisible rods.
The wind and treason
are partners. Perhaps we ought
to feel with more imagination,
pinned to the moment.
Your eyes reflect a hunting scene,
a giant icicle performing
once again for you and me.

-r. miller

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