Wall
He faces the wall, lithe hands held aloft with promises
Of an immortal presence made material in the gradual caresses
Of ink and paint, transient substances with an indelible meaning.
The day is at his shoulders, folding clouds lying on them as
If weighted immeasurably by his coming action...
The ink goes on in easy strokes, these minute gestures in graceful
Forbidden motion; small letters casting potent tones
And bringing down the wall.
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