Dear I at times too dear
At once the lowest and the highest word
Not God but my I I fear
Not the one that he conferred
Two I's that meet in a third
A little clearing in the woods
Where I find a stump and sit
And spy a trinity of birches
Dripping candling the sky
Perfect place for an I to die
Eyes left open to the light
One I that rescues the other I
The one that can never die
Flame that comprehends the night
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