One that formed an enormous oak tree
Its head in other clouds or it could be
A mushroom become an enormous forearm
With seven fingers and a newborn lamb
Peering out between them
One was just a cross-hatched sketch
Of lines meeting in space
Tossed off on a napkin
Of course there are the usual faces
Of monsters and the easterly wind's
Round mouth as on the old maps
But don't follow them too closely
It's like looking in the mirror
Of the whole world's memories
And after a while you melt away
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