No one is exempt from sorrow.
It’s part of the mad ride in the world
where it goes down through water and over rocks
clear up through sky.
Sometimes I can see the whole city, the curve of the earth,
so I lie under a pile of stones,
held to the ground.
It’s the underlayers that need exploring,
where the treasure is, the long canals,
the dim rooms, which I’ve built
with the half of myself I don’t remember.
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