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I think this is Brigit Pegeen Kelly's last published poem. I posted this once before, but posting again as it just won't let me be. Her level of attentiveness is so needed right now.
" . . . He is a house of
books, my shy scorpion, carrying in his belly all the
perishable manuscripts — a little mirror of the library
at Alexandria, which burned."
I believe (though I could be wrong) this is Brigit Pigeen Kelly's last published poem: