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The Wreckage of Flowers: I. On the wall a painting that depicts winter …
Miranda Cuckson
Hersch: the wreckage of flowers
The Wreckage of Flowers: II. A still-looking branch, both cold and living …
The Wreckage of Flowers: III. … and the sky far up above was the only element we shared with the other people on the face of the earth …
The Wreckage of Flowers: IV. Over the gate of the rectory, fragments of brick among weeds …
The Wreckage of Flowers: V. Now there is only the earth, sandy, trodden down, with one leafless tree …
The Wreckage of Flowers: VI. To lay bare a monument like a nest in a thicket, though all you wanted was to pluck a few roses …
The Wreckage of Flowers: VII. He wakes up, rubs his eyes, and above the tossed-back scarecrows of the pines …
The Wreckage of Flowers: VIII. Beyond a field, a wood and a second field …
The Wreckage of Flowers: IX. The din ceases …
The Wreckage of Flowers: X. From afar, from somewhere beyond the river, echoes of lingering voices …
The Wreckage of Flowers: XI. … the wind rattling the metal sheets hanging from a cliff-like wall …
The Wreckage of Flowers: XII. The sky before sunrise is soaked with light …
The Wreckage of Flowers: XIII. And that snow will remain forever, unredeemed, not spoken of to anyone …
The Wreckage of Flowers: XIV. … but here there was not a tree, or even lichens growing on the rocks …
The Wreckage of Flowers: XV. Starry skies go out …
The Wreckage of Flowers: XVI. Winter, night, the frozen sky is flooded with red …
The Wreckage of Flowers: XVII. … and the sky far up above was the only element we shared with the other people on the face of the earth …
The Wreckage of Flowers: XVIII. … huge flocks of crows, freezing in mid-air, exploded under the clouds …