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  • I mentioned Horace's epistle to Numicia in another thread. I wrote this poem as an Epicurean response to his question. ___________________________________________ Firewood While walking in the woods, I am at pains To pause at each cold circle of burnt stone. A totemic blending of the profane And sacred: a human altar where none So human live—where memory and time Are sacrificed in their concentric rings, The ageless for the transitory. Each Ring is a dolmen, or a stele of lime, And tells of the …