And God held in his hand A small Globe.
Look, he said.
The Son looked, far off.
As through water, he saw
A scorched land of fierce
Color. The light burned
There; crusted buildings
Cast their shadows; a bright
Serpent, a river
Uncoiled itself, radiant with slime.
On a bare
Hill a tree saddened
The sky. Many people
Held out their thin arms
To it, as though waiting
For a vanished April
To return to its crossed
Boughs. The son watched
Them. Let me go there, he said.
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