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Near Nod

When I was the age of three in the sultry heat the weeds were blos-

soming and I looked off to the east. Cut from stone, my hand

strained for the wall. Long ridges of corrugated steel shot past,

moving south to north. And there stood a man upon whom the sun

had descended. Later my hand grew fluent of speech, and ap-

proached me, quiet and unpretending, laid out on the earth to dry.

from WatchwordFind more by William Fuller at the library

Copyright © William Fuller
Used with the permission of Flood Editions.

Published in Poems William Fuller

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