...and the Memory is Also Small
On the other side of the highway
the silver SUV sped towards home
It sought center
and smoothness
It carried a procession of bodies
through that space as careful as a mother
And the dog
It didn't have time to be more than
yet another small branch of kindling
Spinning - a loom endlessly kicked
in some dark room
Gold turning into straw then into shoots
and finally seeds blown in the wind
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