Tuesday, August 15, 2017

provision






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All morning with dry instruments
The field repeats the sound
Of rain
From memory
And in the wall
The dead increase their invisible honey
It is August
The flocks are beginning to form
I will take with me the emptiness of my hands
What you do not have you find everywhere

–W. S. Merwin



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thingsthatsing
merwinconservancy

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