Sarah V. Schweig

 

 

 

      I and the Village

 

 

And when I lived in the tower 

I rendered what I saw out below 

with chalk on the bare stone wall. I resolved 

to bring myself to the edge. I brought myself 

 

to the edge. I turned around 

and there was a man holding a fistful of flowers.

How could I reconcile him with the hunched figures

like dropped petals I pass each day among steel structures?

 

Here we are with the man holding a fistful of flowers,      

running in circles again. I know it means nothing.   

Nothing will save us!  says the bare stone wall.           

The Sparrows of Dust bathe in the dust.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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