2157
6.328
25.xi.25
death
by window
such fine feathers
as made from winter
nor long till maggot
and the blowfly comes
one must imagine
flight from this stillness
to gaze upon
find a shovel in the shed
then
may the creek take you
as glory as any tree perch leaf
through
was not the air an ocean all
around
how could nothing interrupt?
of course it was light led
me
beak first to eternity
who knew that wings
were up against time?
that death was all along?
don’t touch
it’s a window through which
I’m shown
now I see the fortress we’ve
built
how it is moated
promise me
please promise me
you won’t clean them again
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