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Poem on a line by Parra.

Ask a dying man what time it is and twenty centuries may rise into his eyes you will not meet them Ask a dying man what time it is a drift of sand will fill his hand you will not take it Ask a dying man what time it is and clamor's breath will try the gates of death you will not hear it I asked a dying man the time he took my wrist and put a finger to my lips
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Author:Zaller, Robert
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Date:May 1, 1993
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