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The Fall of Paris
Daybreak
They marched us
all day long
through the camp
compound, which is
to say, we had failed
at our appointed duties.
To the west lay
the smouldering city
to the east
the Great Sea.
Nightfall
No more marching.
The moon hung
in the sky
like a communion wafer,
as if Chagall had painted
on a celestial palette,
each night, the light
tumbling down,
through my grey window
like so much hope
over the broken city.
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