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Answer» The house of my childhood stood empty On a GREY hill All its furniture gone
Except my grandmother's grindstone And the brass figurines of her gods
After the death of all birds Bird-cries still fill the mind After the city's erasure A blur still peoples the air In the colourless crack that comes before morning In a place where nobody can sing Words DISTRIBUTE their silence Among intricately clustered glyphs
My grandmother's voice shivers on a bare branch I TODDLE around the empty house Spring and summer are both gone Leaving an elderly infant To explore the rooms of age
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