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This poem is taken from PN Review 36, Volume 10 Number 4, March - April 1984.

After Haymaking Robert Wells
The last bale placed, he stretched out in the hay.
    Its warmth and his were one.
He watched the fields beneath the weakening day
And felt his skin still burning with the sun.

When it was dusk, he moved. Between his skin
    And clothes the sweat ran cold.
He trembled as he felt the air begin
To touch and touch for what it could not hold.
...


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