1/25/2008

Only the River

The final stab of light passes through
its victims: the poplar trees, the corner
of a wooden shed, the window facing west.

Some dark, sleeping eye opens, then
flutters out with flaming wings.

The hills are listening. The woods
are listening. The skies large ear
pressed to ground, listening. Only

the river has heard and
understanding, slowly continues

its shivering journey.

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