OUT IN THE WORLD
No one sees the darkest hiss of rain
or the authority of selfish tears
in the rattle of liquid night
like timber packets
Alone hot struggles of kitchen fire
that is her trade
driving her rampart
a woman unconsciously witnessed
with auburn hair low from time’s complexion
that nobody watched
The boatman passes like a gust
absently he comes scratching
cursing all the time
always afraid
strolling to him feels like plunging
Mud errands high hair unmoving
flat time downriver from uninterrupted
books I came not to take employment
for the room had not changed
Able herself supported
she walked with undercut pride
or perhaps with something better
Admit the truth
open the window
goodbye to houses and hello to farms
this is the way things are
out in the world
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