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Where once the desert
provided no hope of survival.
The word has broken faith
with the action.
There is no struggle to be
right. Ice amplifies
a violent quietus. Otherwise
called my life and times.
My grandfather’s name
makes me think of the desert
and my country. I never
knew if he hated the heat,
or by what process he saw
nothing and again
remembered. Nothing.
El Alhemein in July or the first
book he bought me.
Greeks and Trojans dressed
in cricket whites.
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