It is not always like that,
But it is sometimes like that,
And when it is like that, well. . .
Lapis lazuli eyebrows,
Marble face, inlaid eye whites,
Carved hair pleated in black waves,
A heap of seaweed, a spike
Corroded by seawater,
Writing that someone had stamped
Into a large hall tunneled
Out of a salt deposit
Old before the dinosaurs,
What happens to mislaid signs
Of a world long since moved on?
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