This poem emerged from an old magazine on the ground, among other scattered books and pages, near an abandoned building. Words taken directly from the photo are in italics. (To find those words in the image, start half-way down the right-hand column.)
THE LAST PRINTED PAGE
I think it said something
about Mercy and then...
​
work in newspapers
causes that matter
dropped
opportunity to leap...
​
Then something
about writing
publishing... books...
...communicate better?
remember
interest
read...
distant you
writing...
spellings...
​
But these words were hard to read
as they seeped, pulped and faded...
​
tangled up in weeds...
...into the turning Earth.
​
@ 2013 Linda Eve Diamond, The Beauty of Listening