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Trial II Rue: This courtroom’s a parliament of jackals – see Hitler faces front dark robes. Unsullied, though, a wafer of light silvers water; unspoiled, the wind rattles alders. I would like very much to sing – in a new life, a new world, some April song – “A slight dusting of snow, the indigo dawn hovers – and we sweeten in our love,” yes, something like that, but blood must expunge, sponge up, blood. We’re condemned because death is not condemned. We’re damned because desire is not damned. Stars are hanging like locusts in the trees. Birds faction the air. April collapses snow into flowers. The river goes cloudy with moon. The Poetry of George Elliott Clarke / 31 ...

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