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The Old Walls

The wall is who we are and they are not and
farther in the boundaries collapse in a rush of
security as cells multiply and break through stone
translucent grit cracks the skin open to the elements
we go down through layers and this is history
a low door at the foot of the walls opens into starry
arches articulate as loin bones the slender joints
lithe as a voice disappearing from behind the
words behind the walls where water moves
against deep tones of trees that cloud the air

behind the smell of wet earth the voice leaves
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