these things smash
like water from a vase
like a wave on the sloping shore
and the air uncaring
the avaricious sand
pull the water, bared
into themselves
leave the shells
and fragments, the curling
drifts of kelp
drying slow, under the humming flies
leave these things lonely
under the hard shimmer of the sun
and the buzzing lights
they said--and the world hummed
absentmindedly along
they said--and were saying
they say differently now
and the crack
of voices, but it would shatter
and the echoes die
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