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Aubade | poetryarchive.org


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Aubade Hours before dawn we were woken by the quake. My house was on a cliff. The thing could take Bookloads off shelves, break bottles in a row. Then the long pause and then the bigger shake. It seemed the best thing to be up and go. And far too large for my feet to step by. I hoped that various buildings were brought low. The heart of standing is you cannot fly.

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