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David Ferry



  • PoetrySeptember 28, 2000

    Nocturnal

    It is always among sleepers we walk.
    We walk in their dreams. None of us
    Knows what he is as he walks
    In the dream of another. Tell me my name
    . Your tongue is blurred, honeyed with error,
    Your sleep’s truth murmurs its secret.

    Tell me your name. Out at the edge,
    Out in the cold, out in the cold
    That came into the house in your clothes
    The wind’s hands hold onto nothing,
    Moaning, over the edge of the cliff
    The wind babble unintelligible.

    David Ferry



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  • PoetrySeptember 28, 2000

    The Chair

    The chair left out in the garden night all winter
    Sits waiting for the summer day all night.

    The insides of the metal arms are frozen.
    Over the house the night sky wheels and turns

    All winter long even behind the day.

    David Ferry


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