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Published on Feb 21, 2012
Telescope sees me dashing through The maple-broken evening sun. An engine from afar; Like the thrumming of my Sparrow heart, I can hear him coming. Skin and bone rolling in the dust, Stops along the roadside weeds. I see him setting down; Hands of mercy lift me From the ground----give me what I Needed.
Bottle fly, contemplating glass, Crawls along the cracked-salt rim. The driver's side reflects, Sees me here and in this Way again; Will I be forgiven? Temple Cone sees me sitting there, Washed out in the bright sunshine, Looked for a friend; That's the way he saw me Way back when, and I won't Deny it.
Am I here? Am I really here? Is it really fair to be Living through the words Of the one who saw me At my worst when I hadn't Seen it?