4/27/97 the light rain crow perched outside my door awaiting my chance the mist in the trees like a visitor the animals that spoke in the night left their voices on the ground I am a visitor I never learn enough courage or loneliness from your voice the pocket of my right eyelid where I keep the numbers twitches I peer at the soil I listen hawk's challenge a truck passes on the road someone chops my breath is a book words and numbers fill it if I read it if I praised its magic my future would find itself
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