I try not to pay attention
to the date or the hour,
the numbers never add up
and we’re stuck on today.
So I fill my belly and
watch the signs,
the stacking of the dishes,
the raptor above the pines,
dogs pace and flies gather in
that long last light,
the afternoon a shorthand as
the earth bows and bows.
Doves and squirrels
to rock the feeders, hawks and
vultures to hold the sky.
I jot down words as
the sun worries away the west,
transparent chitinous wings
rise and dive through
the ray streaked distance
the blinding we were bound to
arrive at leaning over
us glib remainders,
us found poems.
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