The Stranger
Standing on the edge of the circle
The man with the book speaks
A language no one understands
The fire in his eyes could burn
A clearing through the forest
Could light up the night sky
Children run to touch his clothes
Orange hairs on his strange skin
The old woman watches his mouth
Disconcerted by the shape of his lips
She keeps one foot inside her grass hut
Which too could catch fire from his eyes
She is shrewd this woman but
She cannot tell if he is smiling
Or if the stranger bears his teeth
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