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6 This Page When the shop comes down and there is nothing left of the house I love and the last fragment of this page is eaten by a beetle as it hoves back down into the earth to sleep away the sunlight, the ruins of this place will still cast shadows for a time and the small blue crow that swoops down out of the willow will taste the clickety scratch of barbed legs working against its throat and be satisfied moving along by wing and by song to fly through the world we had thought enough once to find a way to praise. However little good it did light still falls across the page. ...