Sounds of life, the groaning
superficial wounds whose origons
start deeper. The last thoughts
sunk into the dream while falling,
what animal's teeth make wounds-
maybe yours. Most certainly mine.
Not being how to save ourselves
but how to be the darkness,
how to quell our instincts
on the long way down or
where we go in shadow.
Watch the leaf, its doom-like spiral,
earthbound lovely, helpless fragile,
the mid-flight bird whose ruptured
heart breaks its final promise.
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