Above the Crowd

We looked across long rows of terracotta
with wires rising up
as if for each individual voice
listlessly comparing themselves to the sun
judging by their surroundings
“This life,
this is something special.”

of course
the next wire rises
and the next and the next
caught in the sudden middle
of a rising tide
ever-discontent with their plot
ever-concerned with the higher
and the closer.

Losing track of
(having lost track oF)
what it felt like
(still feels like)
above the crowd.


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