exigent willows

(this sameness wasn’t old) it was
the shape of our ambivalence
the form of our inheritance
the fate of our strange arguments
about the many and the few
the missing underprivileged
the moral corners cut and edged
the truths forgotten lightly pledged
but here the tumulus lies cold
the anger that has lost its sense
the dark too close and too immense
all willows in their exigence

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