I recollect an image of street signs,/I dread an apprehension,/on guard against friend and foe,/ reading unblemished labels./Like an empty calf skull,/bleached and gleaming,/I turned angry, way back when ,/I called out what I saw as remote./For she was a blind grandmother,/ she blinks nonetheless/her voice quavers ,while speaking-you are not a young man/I had several answers to her questions; /that I too, was among the living,/that the next life ahead, /would be no different./I’m not in front of flames ,/of burning rags and shoes,/belonging to the now dead,,/I scramble, to block my guardian angel,/ with a ballast gleaned/ from discovered love letters./In youth, we prize each mortal moment, /we think not of climbing /to surprises of a gentle nature./Instead, aloft, pierced, penetrated, /by a strike from arrows.

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