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Inscape

My nisei mother wept the moment
Her mother’s soul winged

In West Hiroshima from her body.
Who knows the circuitry

Of dream-time,
Stitchery of omens,

Coordinates of a dream-province,
Secret topography of wishes and fears?

This is the planetary skin
Easily cut, easily abraded:

A half-crucifixion in the dark.

 

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