Having withdrawn to die
the sick and starving grasses
in the now green gloom
of the moon hung over the river
so you can almost see their eyes
through the branches and will
soon be able to regard
the original plan and layout
of the night’s maze
constructed just for you
first as a chronicle of disaster
scattered groups trying to escape
most later killed with knives
or hung in rows like laundry
and then you lost again
and wandering through
someone else’s life
as if it was your own emerging
from some tangled thicket
or swimming frantically
from shore to shore.
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