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Sport 33: Spring 2005

In the cemetery

In the cemetery

The dead are not here,
sunbathing in their granite suits.

Or have become these birds:
the serin serenades itself,

the redstart stars
in its own black night of feathers,

stops on top of a sepulchre
to let its hymn cross

into gossip—this
crisp ripping of

these, our
deeds.