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| ← Poetry |
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a vulture perched across my yard and He watches while I read
I don’t believe in omens. Just the backdrop in your mind - remembrances that do not let you sleep. So it helps me focus when the Watcher chooses form.
What’s more difficult to bear:
two eyes that shift blinked blue shut, welded to the sky.
or one fixed on you - the other on the other side.
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| ← Poetry |
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