The ark among the flags
All the abandoned, never found or claimed;
The long-lost, nameless, scorned, or blackly named;
The scapegoats, stoned and cast away and blamed
For nothing but their prayer-words or their skin,
For being nothing but what they had always been,
Made nothing because of some lost origin —
Picked up today in Exodus, and read
Aloud again here, while centuries of dead
Hear silently what goes on being done, and said.
A light goes on:
Something is telling me
The camera is too full of memories.
Before I take another picture
Some must be cancelled.
So I must choose:
Blank out some bits of past,
Or print what's there and leave room for the rest
While there's still time. Which shall I press?
What shall I lose?
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