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Bachelor looking overhead like Fuji, where cloud bespectacle his snow white face and drift imperceptibly into nothing, signifying time itself drifting over the immovable face of history, staring down the valley and humanity, despite suffering, despite the love of millions, lives of the peasants, cruelty of the rich and every tiny stitch of human interaction that draws everyone together in death, all forgotten. Without human emotion across the mask of Earth. And mothers are alone across old Indian praries in the back of my mind warming next to stove cooking humble dinner for one. No longer big family mouths of demand and she belongs to the prarie now, the buffalo, and her forehead is dusted with charcoal. She dreams of her granddaughters growing into women she may not know, my mother. Like a flower is rooted to the green prarie and moves with the wind closer to my heart. She is less a flower and more the grass. Meditating with the birds. By an’ by the gates of Eden, never weary my soul. In amber meadows…. Suddenly I fell asleep watching the field mice bending arches at the top of wheat and dream of faces fading without words, and see old Indiam bums, homeless and alcoholic old Marines sad and trained to kill quietly hiding secret knives in large overcoat….

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