Watch! In the distance a horse is approaching at gallop.
Look at the silhouette, lost is the animal; gained is the symbol.
The sun is so juicy—tomato of starlight—it's laughing.
Somehow the stars have converted their starlight to fingers
Tickling blankets on stone in the summer and twinkling something
Like hope, as the roots of the twilight expand through the air with their fragrance.
Let's say the blanket's a bench, though the stone's also granite;
Trade out the horse for a uniform bearing a truncheon and handcuffs;
The floodlamps are sunlight—so welcome my steed, you're a beautiful peon.
Let me admire all your buttons of brass.
Let me examine your heart made of tin.
Let me perceive my reflection in boots
That you've polished in sunlight, on stirrups; on horses
That have frothed in the twilight and died after midnight.
"For the first time since the 1935 prize, when the laureate, Carl von Ossietzky, languished in a concentration camp and Hitler forbade any sympathizers to attend the ceremony, no relative or representative of the winner was present to accept the award or the $1.5 million check it comes with. Nor was Mr. Liu able to provide a speech, even in absentia."
—SARAH LYALL, The New York Times, Published: December 10, 2010
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