There are you, familiar, at times
overlooked, despised. Now,
go back the way you came, down
the same old streets where you
grew to a name and a single face.
Close your eyes. You are on
a dark plain. The hot winds
breathe in and out. You're laughing!
You asked for a home, you crossed
the earth, you sat speechless,
you questioned the closed door,
'Are you there?' no one answered
because all the time it was you.
Philip Levine
What Work Is
Burned
[fragment]
Alfred A. Knopf, 1991©
Puiforcat
Initiales
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Photo, Laurent
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