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The Patriarch
as a boy he knew never to laugh on an island that never wept
an island whipped hard by the southern sun
where shepherds herded flocks to high pastures
and fishermen turned open boats to open sea
mornings he climbed the cliffs above the village
to where the sea birds wait out the night
from there listened to the splintered lyric of things such as they are
poem
by
Paul Bamberger
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