Looking at you
I cannot help supposing
As I admire the view
That a landscape so imposing
Must be also true:
These rocks in their unwrinkled case
(The apportionment
Of featured precincts in your face)
Surely represent
The genuine genius of the place.
But looking at me
I find it hard believing
Whatever self I see:
As if by merely moving
My face could get free
Of what is nothing more than some
Irrelevant mask.
On you it’s you, and even dumb
Owns what I must ask:
My body a foreign house, yours home.
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