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Rose Ausländer, from While I am Drawing Breath


In the window stands a landscape
six houses each with
its own small plot

Trees talk
the poplars say hello
without nodding their heads

Someone has taken them seriously
and given this lane
their name

Dead straight the paths
where arcs of water criss-cross
a grid of liquid crystal

Time and the seasons
breathing in and out

We are human
we enjoy these little games