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So chill this fall wind, it could kill a man—
The outdoors are also sorrow,
And the indoors are also sorrow.
What man among us
Has not held it close within?
This that makes my head all white.
From the margins of the earth, the large gale sweeps.
The trees—the trees, how they thin themselves.
Daily we dwell even farther from home.
Daily grows my belt more slack.
My heart’s thoughts cannot talk.
In my entrails, the cart’s wheels turn and they turn.