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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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