ant5

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in and out

of the mist crow on

the tip of the pine

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in the twilight sky

blue and orange

make green

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I’d rather not

have organs

on the outside

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as you latch

the gate the swifts

descend on the chickens

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out of the empty

sky a drop

hits my neck

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it’s like packing

for going

to sleep

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fixing the skeleton

her eyes dart

to the clock

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bound to the heat

in the rafters

mosquitoes

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