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Watchman, your tower stands.
It is your singular prison.

The tower echoes your prayer, made in
Silence: such was its fervency;
No wish for swift victory and a swift end to the watch.

The sentry’s thoughts are subject to the will;
On a long watch, this is an abandoned yielding.
Subject also is his gaze, bound by
a horizon,
the bearing.

Watchman, what weight constrains you?
Only the weight your Tower bears
In addition to your self.

As surely as your duty is ordained,
You are your own jailor.

(For Tim.)

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