When I hear the little iron bell in the yard
Which only a certain velocity of wind
Can lift into its tinkling dance
I want it to rush right through me too
The light stirring the warmth and cold around
Until the movement makes a human sound
Like the failing and quickening heart-beat
Of an embryo struggling to be born
Right here in my own backyard
Think of it at my late age
With an infant to care for
And carry around
All I love these early days
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