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79 First Bible A beat-up King James split into sheaves themselves Tattered, paper so old it crisps. To you I did this. . . . Binding broken, this keepsake in among typing paper, Books shuffled, Genesis on bottom, New Testament Between Kings and Lamentations, studied to its ruin, Dog-eared Babylon, scattered ancestors, their terrors, The dust they kissed and cursed, prayers they fumbled, Passing tribes and marriages and deliquescing glories Fouled up, mishandled, soiled to this yellowing end. Creation, revelation, kingdom I thumbed through so, Shattered, fallen apart, gardens and deserts and cities, Why more of this? Did we multiply to compassion? What on earth is such abundance, mutilated friend? Miracle, language, did I love what I love to this mess? Pestilence, drought, disease, yes, I shall dearly miss You, a black keepsake that says night shall be light, You psalms, prophesies, bread broken, bodies, nations, Crumbs of crumbs so crushed it leaves me breathless. ...

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