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Poetry: History


Cuneiform: for Rob

In the ruins of unrecovered cities,
the regular paths of shadow
measure the days since the last trace
of footsteps was obliterated
by no more than time.  The wind
slithers through the dustless streets
like a deathrattle through broken

               The merchants
have been melted down for
sacred ornaments:  the priests
have been cast in bronze and 
taken away.    Only my eyes
still watch for you.     Remember
that I watched for you, and,
with the shadows, you came to me.
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