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The Night Piece The fog drifts slowly down the hill And as I mount gets thicker still, Closes me in, makes me its own Like bedclothes on the paving stone. Here are the last few streets to climb...

Stars At dusk the first stars appear.Not one eager finger points toward them.A little later the stars spread with the nightAnd an orange moon risesTo lead them, like a shepherd, toward dawn. “Stars,”...