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114 BROC ROSSELL A CLOUD OF FAITHFUL WITNESSES Hope is a form of penance Like an oil rig spouting as it bores, I climb to discover the rock Or the Virgin of Guadalupe visits And labor assumes a purpose. Romance purports a dialectic between loss and solace But this clerestorial poem Has no house Admits no refuge Or denies anything I can remember 115 BROC ROSSELL CONSCRIPTION Resonant structures I a stream between capital L’s and T’s Three-story two-story six-story trees A genuflective tributary Where empire Meets tribe The shadow of Burj Khalifa Lashing the gravestones Of people my first boss killed So many miles from the suburb Of my language and my light ...

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