Do you know what a poem is, Esther?'

'No, what?' I would say. '

A piece of dust.'

Then, just as he was smiling and starting to look proud, I would say, 'So are the cadavers you cut up. So are the people you think you're curing. They're dust as dust as dust. I reckon a good poem lasts a whole lot longer than a hundred of those people put together.'

A

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