When I looked up at the stucco wall
I saw two faces etched by the trowel
Of some unaware worker's hand
Hurried scrawls at the end
Of a long and sweaty afternoon
I couldn't immediately fish them out
From the swirling throbbing lines
But then at once they both appeared
One an old man's fiery gaze
One eye open and the other shut
As if he saw both worlds at once
His wild hair streaming in a frozen wind
The other in profile obviously young
Who looked about to scream or fly
Into the pavement of the sky
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