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***

 

my inner wall keeps silent;

a shadeless window or lamp

burns at the very edge—

from here it’s hard to make out,

I can just hear creaking stones

brick muttering to brick

pull me closer

—my wall keeps silent, and I am still

from Letters to YakubFind more by Gleb Shulpyakov at the library

Copyright © 2014 Gleb Shulpyakov
Used with the permission of Canarium Books.

Published in Gleb Shulpyakov Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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