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When you hear her say,’What else can an old woman doon hills as wretched as these?’You look right at the sky,Clear through the bullet holes she has for eyes.And you look onthe cracks that begin around her eyesspread beyond her skinAnd the hills crack.And the temples crack.And the sky falls with a plateglass clatter around the shatter proof cronewho stands alone.And you are reducedto so much small changein her hand.
