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The Tower

Emptiness, smothered
by coils of bricks, of stone
old ivy cons by rote it,
as rust, as mud.

Destiny said at
night in low voices only,
by coils of bricks, of stone.

The spirits' din
of clocks, knives, of locks, bones;
lost signs of right, of nobleness
in distant steps
emptiness smothered.