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Published: Tue Oct 15 1974
Wosene Worke Kosrof, The Inventor V (detail), 2022, acrylic on linen. Courtesy of Sullivan Goss Gallery, Santa Barbara, California

I am in the forest looking for
fragments of speech, the betrayed
holy words which cannot utter themselves.
I have been lost for days.
There are many moons; the time
is at the crossroads of autumn.
In my mouth are burnt poppyseeds,
at my elbow December’s shadow.

I ask for directions; you answer:
“Somewhere, in some house far from here,
a man is weaving the rope in which
this day shall be hanged.”

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