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(21)
by Eliot
Rated: E · Poetry · Drama · #463427
The truth revealed on a hillside
Terracing

Knowing you will search in me for truth,
I shield my eyes, plant stones
To frame the earth,
As earth will frame my bones.

Such labor is not pleasing:
I cannot bury earth or words.
Your question latent, seizing:
What is it that you want? you ask.

I answer:
Nothing.
Everything.
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