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I run my hand along the Wall,
still warm from the absent Sun,
feeling the stubble of names-
an index to the chapters
hidden within.
Bright eyes look back,
tho I watched those eyes dim over.
A hand grips my hand,
tho I saw it cupping blood.
I hear it call my name,
tho I do not know why it is not I
who should be calling.

Al Zeller

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by r1067r

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