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Remains of the Ground
Shapes of rings signed in the sunlight
moved across the old motifs and molds.
In the furrows, followed in a fallen frieze
shreds of scars on shapeless skulls.
Upon the dry grass
where the soft ash twisted,
he surveyed the homebrewed slogans,
his eyes like tenured trees,
akin to truncheoned targets.
An ancient scrawl etched in the east,
And Along its forlorn fringes
a blueprint for assembly.
