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Poetry of Issue 9: Another Time, Running

Another Time, Running

Another time,       running across

the pink sky      I hurried

           to keep up with you.

There was blood everywhere

             blood on the stones

             below

Why  wouldn’t you slow down?

Breathless

I can no longer call you.

                  Brother

    you are so much quicker

    than the living.

Where

                  are you going?             What are you

running to?                What from?

Look,

There is writing in the blood,

stories

I can not keep running across the sky

I must let you go, must go down where the blood

   lays cold on the stones—and stories are written.

I must tell the stories.

by Frank Murphy

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