Shadow stands on sudden feet; the
walker
With the broad hat must have a dog
This night not meant for walking alone.
The wheat-ghosts whisper:
The evening
star grew wings
And now the roaring moon's on
fire!
The dog made from shadow, still
half-made,
Turns his head towards the moonlit man
Walking a road there because he walks
it
His high, crooked staff held before him.
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