“O my land,
O my people,”
For I, who have neither land nor people
And live on the ragged arc of light between the nations,
Whose breath draws in the soda pop fizzle of the static,
And that only:
Let the bell-chimes of the pastures wash over me
Let the warmth of coffee-cups in December
Seep through my gloves.
For I, who reach towards the heart -
And find but smoke and mirrors
And the empty click of days spent apart -
Nothing!
,
Nothing eases the mind of one who wants to be consoled
About the lack of ease of mind,
“O,” my pathos
Cannot be grounded in solid earth, cannot be supported by the firmament,
O my grief cannot breathe nor be born,
But for the snap of the light on the screen,
In the towers, in the air and in the corn.
O my land, beneath and beyond and between,
O my people.
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