What place
have the dead
with us today. Where
have they gone in our
imagination; under what
marker, under what
sod have we hid
them away? Or is
it under postmodernism
that we have tucked
them out of sight in a
place where the dead
have no meaning or
bearing on who
we are. Our meaning comes
from where we stand; and
today I stand on them.
Them, who are in me.
These are those within
me, and those
below
my feet.
My people.
My love.
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