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This poem is taken from PN Review 87, Volume 19 Number 1, September - October 1992.

THIS STATION IN THE WOODS, HOW WAS IT BUILT? James Keery

THIS STATION IN THE WOODS, HOW WAS IT BUILT?

The oak, that has to flourish to exist,
That has to stand and change like traffic lights,
Is coolly disregarded by the reeds
For whom twilight is mirrored more than shadowed;
Autumn in the water, not the leaves;
Dreams not always rigorously curtailed.


OUT OF MAY'S SHOWS SELECTED

A cold dust underfoot, where the track was muddy,
The trees that were dark green, almost to black.


LATE OCTOBER

The mists have cleared, leaving a sense of height
Among the trees that are still shapely with leaves.

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