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BUT. Boers - tractor - and I,
farm worker Brodsky,
we sowed winter - six hectares.
I contemplated the wooded edge
and the sky with a jet strip,
and my boots touched the lever.

Corn puffs under harrow,
and the engine was read neighborhood.
Pilot between clouds twisted his handwriting.
Face in the field, to back movement,
I adorned a seyalku,
powdery zemlitsy Mozart.

Aug. Sept 1964

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