English poetry

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Graydigger's Home

Paw marks near one burrow show Graydigger
At home, I bend low, from down there swivel
My head, grasstop level the world
Goes on forever, the mountains a bigger
Burrow, their snow like last winter. From a room
Inside the world even the strongest wind
Has a soft sound: a new house will hide
In the grass; footsteps are only the summer people.

The real estate agent is saying, “Utilities. . .
Easy payments, a view.” I see
My prints in the dirt. Out there
In the wind we talk about credit, security
There on the bank by Graydigger’s home.

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Poem Graydigger's Home - William Stafford