Man with a Dog
Step out of bed – sunlight is halving
the unfamiliar valley, light from deep shadow,
the dark slope full of trees. A sandy track
leads up to sun on meadows.
A man with a dog has stopped to watch
two others coax a yellow machine uphill.
I hear its engine coughing as they heave
and pause and heave, until
I am half here and half there.
Just so, a child in the top of the bus,
I would stare at one familiar mansion,
its perfect lawn, sash windows. Inside,
figures half seen, people I longed to be
simply because of difference, sure
their selves beyond the glass more real than me.
And now, though I long to walk that opposite slope
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