I can't think it matters what I say
refrigerator muttering fog horn
when night has come we sleep
nor do sheep explain their voices
or dog wait patiently on the porch
eyes thrilling to the thought of art
decades ago I took the only route
Madras and Bombay never coming
back now she's getting her master's
stop falling I said or expecting me
to respond tense in spite of Reich
saving cartons for our owning up
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