Natural World
There is water, one wave on the found shore.
My footprints in the sand attract crustaceans.
Clattering claws hold forth.
This philosophy
replaces my earlier treatise on salvation.
Life is extreme.
The sky lolls, exhausted on the bed.
Bent horizons lodge in the mind, proving
time other than shredded sliver meals
held daintily in pincers.
Cats cough fur-balls and the sun rises.
A degree of uncertainty
separates the present from the past.
The dead appear in my mirror.
More and more they insist on answers.
Footnotes grafted on true stock
were decorative at first.
Later, the stars seemed more distant, colder.
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