is when eyes criss-cross the stars
rather heart.
golden lamb breathe, the image
i sieve that midas linger, that
brood of his, that thistle on the dams edge
it spoke of this
needling at her legs like the words
fell from his tongue and crawled over
stone, i think i saw her
over by the bridge
a gate by it.
i went to speak, to say hello,
nothing brash
the sky was closing over me, and
a flood of crows swept my vision
to see rabbit to see hawk
and the idle crunch
as i lay myself before a gate
maybe the wind will shift it,
maybe tomorrow when the birds
are still, or the field is cut to pieces.
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