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The cuckoo holds its wings
In the rain. They are lucid
As rain in the grey air,
And two. Its tail jolts
Arrhythmically, like a stalled
Pendulum, and droplets bead
And roll to its pale extent,
And they fall. It inclines
Its empty eye, where the all
Of every object tends. Age
Lies on its plumage like water.

A holocaust of cuckoos, tonight,
And every night below freezing
For fifteen thousand years.

The light breaks like a shell,
And the body dances up from it.