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This poem is taken from PN Review 69, Volume 16 Number 1, September - October 1989.

Two Poems Andrew Waterman

Our Realm

Like some deep-rooted overshadowing tree
spread thronged and singing to enfold us when
we pause, at desks, or you with family,
is our green world exhaling oxygen

where seamlessly consort all the terrains
possessing us: those golden strands, our talk
and teasings, plans, guilts, books shared; narrow lanes
of your South German childhood which I walk

who've not yet visited; our love-embrace.
What we inhabit haunts the everyday
it craves, which this cold night insists your place
is elsewhere. Does your husband see you stray

half-lost now in that dripping summer wood,
a twilit mush of leaves beneath our feet?
"Blumen," you uttered, "Blumen" - and we could

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