Look at us
morning rising from the height of night,
steadfast,
and night, from the body of day,
rising in pride
with a bluish dagger.
And look at us—
made luckless in our own unrest
by the fault of those others.
And look at us—
made luckless
by the fault of those others,
as lashes settle
on our bloodied bodies.
And look at us—
each of us, from every direction,
in a futile struggle
within our private isolation,
our grim faces cracking.
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