Page 61 - Jack Foley | The true litterateur
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                                              JACK FOLEY

                  wind bangs tree limbs against my roof
                             LAMENT OF THE BURNED HOUSES:

                  as if the trees suddenly revolted

                             WE HAVE SOULS, LIKE YOU

                  as if the trees were aware
                             THEY SCATTER INTO ASHES

                  of what we have done to them

                             AND FOUL YOUR AIR
                  over the centuries

                             MALOS AIRES

                  but I know

                             WE HOUSE
                  this is only my fancy:

                             YOUR MOST INTIMATE POSSESSIONS

                  I have heard of the evacuations, the dying vineyards, the

                  foul air, the flames
                             THEY VANISH WITH US

                  I know why my eyes are beginning to sting

                             INTO THE DANGEROUS WIND

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