Image of the Engine (audio only)
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Cell by cell the baby made herself, the cells
Made cells. That is to say
The baby is made largely of milk. Lying in her father’s arms, the little seed eyes
Moving, trying to see, smiling for us
To see, she will make a household
To her need of these rooms—Sara, little seed,
Me! he says, hand on his chest. Actually, his shirt. And there, perhaps, The question. Pioneers! But trailer people? Wood box full of tools— The most American. A sort of Shrinking in themselves. A Less than adult: old. A pocket knife, A tool— And I Here talking to the man? The sky That dawned along the road And all I've been Is not myself? I think myself Is what I've seen and not myself A man marooned No longer looks for ships, imagines Anything on the horizon.
Whitman: 'April 19, 1864 The capitol grows upon one in time, especially as they have got the great figure on top of it now, and you can see it very well. It is a great bronze figure, the Genius of Liberty I suppose. It looks wonderful toward sundown. I love to go and look at it. The sun when it is nearly down shines on the headpiece and it dazzles and glistens like a big star: it looks quite curious...'