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Arthur Roberts

 First Memory


It shadows me;

and sometimes when I pause

to push the world aside,

my hands retain the mold

of that first memory.



Then I feel its bold

breath within my nose,

odorless; on my lips,

tasteless; on my tongue

wordless. . . .



Quiet memory,

like an ear of corn,

silk lifting-- green and purple--

silent toward the sun,


                                           -from Listen to The Lord





















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