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A Memory of Stanfordville
by Earl Coleman

We know a hill: Oh take me there some
carefree early-Autumn golden day, when
there is nothing but the empty afternoon,
and breathless poplar trees not leafless yet,
the empty meadows waiting to be filled
with snow, the two of us at peace within
our empty wholeness, filling in the lambent
ambience of earth and air, and being filled.