Saturday, October 25, 2014

Am I the Only Semaphore

Grasp the beak and show
your cards. Threads of
system hatch. I squeak

One of us is roan,
the other, safe.
I live between
the icicles and harsh

leaves. No one rakes
the dross, few
sample smoke.
We speak across

the barbecue. What town
is this? Are we
a neighborhood?
A lifetime come to seed.

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