Some love song pleads
while the silhouettes of three
palm trees has me wondering
about the barn owls I only ever
hear as I fumble through the dark
yard and I listen as the last crows
call their alarms, so long
these fields of risk and glory,
goodbye another day wrested from
the clutches of danger and
consequence. There’s something left
that I’d say if there was someone
here to hear me. Instead I stare
at silhouettes as some love song
begs, the light leaving fast.
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