in this short transit
a fog of meaning
that fights with time
a reality that resides
in some other place
you
are found in this universe
only once
in this short transit
through the wilderness
the random moments of this world
have no goals in mind
lines of stones in a fallow field
we all edit our truth
allow reality to take a supporting
role
offer up only the appearance of
answers
everything partial and temporary
within a shelter of meaning
present/absent doesn't matter
just the sorcery of words
a forest no longer humming green
a weeping from an abandoned house
a line of stones in a fallow field
the crows at happy hour
at dusk in the blurred horizon
crows line up on the railing
they share stories
of confiscated things
contemplate shiny objects
of desire
on the edge of a truth
beyond language they
discuss
the full extent of reality
and how everything
without feathers
is merely
a metaphor
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