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{we who flee} bruce mcrae A road, and little else. No sky. No shapes. No planet. A road linking two expectancies, running between unfulfilled wishes, going from exodus into exile, from anywhere to somewhere other. Behind us, a wash of memories scented like almonds. Behind us, a vague recollection. A line being rubbed out. A road sign in ancient Babylonian. I applaud its unnamed makers. I celebrate my ability to see the sure logic of their sublime madness. |
