The Fire of Coals

I, too, assume some settled shape Like others. You've seen Such men walking a street, dressed in ordinary Clothes, average height, visage, Easy enough to dismiss or vilify such Immediate portraits of failure in body To instance any particular Indwelling difference, hope. Yet say Nothing -- it may be accurate Only to wait until morning, when Facing near fire, sea-light Pouring over backs and shoulders, Blinded to shapes, we hear the Timbre of voices carrying far In this clean wind, these same Men toge ther with us On this unusual shore.

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