I love the gaze of statues, hypnotized,
into the middle distance, seeing something
that I can only guess at. I see them cavorting
in the cemetery. Are the dead envious, of their
marble companions?
My father spoke of the beauty of winter,
so many shades of brown, gray, golden stalks
ablaze in the sunset. Here it presses down upon
me, pinning me to the earth. A terrestrial destiny
is the best we can hope for.
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