The shuttering branches move above the wet
piles of leaves, the birds fly above the fields
and into the distance. She is what is held
by the lungs, the different melodies in duet
dancing above the tonic. The white egret
spreads its wings above the blue and cold
bayou water. Her face reminds me of a child,
its innocence, the undistinguished sonnet
hasn't explained anything. I am alone
in this illusory whirl of images, the sad
books sit on the shelves and a dull drone
fills up the space. The tree begins to spread
its limbs in the white sky. The sitting stone
is worn away by the traffic of the road.
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