It was rangy there, in the evening,
the diminishing reach off the snowlines,
buoyant, simple.. The past tenses,
I shall be concerned to see that go,
miss the waif, his bandanna's
ravel freezing if I leave him, we had
the time and the byways of the tribe,
made good progress, all of us, jaunty,
wide.. I sense the approach of the
coda, again, but the veer lines
preclude it, he turns back invaginating
into the piece as the hooked shadow in the
lift of the wave twists, dives, re-runs,
and Willy, bunching, unreels
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