Saturday, December 10, 2011

For Real

Fear of presence
is due
to what doesn’t occur
in occupied space:
a fox, curious 
but feral,
a chitin bark
ferried by scarlet wings,
an acapella
shrilled by a burrowing owl 
to warn its hatch, 
fresh rust 
etching the chain
during my bicycle ride.
It’s why 
I stop hearing
human noise
when screeching parrots flock
from vineyard to sky, 
my spirits rise
to join them. 
My fear dissolves.
I fly for real.

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