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By Jack Joseph Smith

Regret =, (le . We have no stream in/Sorry,’no fishing, certainly, To 5 EE thing 4, no hunting left; no lost in the woods, no first time, No places Lee a loss of stories Never CeEW No street fights, no bugle on the born, no cross step, the dgnc£ ys our giving away are our loves to leave, fone as a the shaman alone we knew, away like that shank in a & fight, it has left forscore, down as if not a shgfider knows a drum; this fire has no form, as if it were.all by yourself you ever thought, when better is with ms SHIM ENC oUMTEC EL known, for just ‘about all of us read the masters eithef before or during our marches and wanderings while this killing time has throh us as a cast, tell abled and romanticiged as lost, Not so kindly and further than any memory still alive has traveled; ; l this counténg of thy blessings, this wondering why our minds shee our graveyards and poet le che stone, that we know the dunrerencs/ between the cross and alist and love the choice; scattered cl | SOME and as pitched as we=see power, we of the hell on Earth don't leave alone the wind or its flower, and maezet of us ase children left to grow aloe qawe=ewn, alone like our mothers and fathers too, who take this task, atid fight listening to the dreamers we are, not become, given, a birth.oo wher 1227, C fegh] shold Hpx - | Fras ie btrow | P © fy PRBS bE Alsor6 eb or MO Nip cll LES LM TPKE) 4 locHe Lv (ts &/ f-

Original Scan

Page 7

AI Interpretation

GPT

A lament for lost woods, stories, and local rituals that turns communal deprivation into a harsher knowledge of memory, violence, and survival.


Claude

What has been lost is not just woods and stories but the communal rituals that gave them meaning. The lament sharpens into something harder than nostalgia — a recognition that memory itself becomes violent when its objects disappear.