I built my tunes on other tunes
Some stones stolen others borrowed
Taken from tombs and modern ruins
That they go not unsorrowed
And though I grinned when my towers crumbled
A crust of dust still coats my lips
From where their heights were humbled
Settling into a mound of bones
So I had to start again by touch
To read like flesh the lettered wind
And build an arch of whirling
Not of bricks but birds
Dragging my heart along
To its unwritten song
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