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256 pages, Paperback
First published November 7, 2017
The Small Square
My life had taken the shape of the small square
That autumn when your death was meticulously getting ready
I clung to the square because you loved
The humble and nostalgic humanity of its small shops
Where the clerks fold and unfold ribbons and cloth
I tried to become you for you were going to die
And all life there would cease being mine
I tried to smile the way you smiled
At the newsagent at the tobacconist
And at the woman without legs who sold violets
I asked the woman without legs to pray for you
I lit candles before all the altars
Of the churches located on one side of this square
For as soon as I opened my eyes I saw I read
The vocation of eternity written on your face
I summoned the streets the places the people
That had been witnesses of you face
In hopes they could call you in hopes they would unravel
The fabric that death was weaving in you
The autumn when your death was being meticulously organized
That autumn when your death meticulously organized itself