the sound of a knock drifting
i saw a bird flying low
over the freeway in the purple dusk.
it looked something like
a storm-tossed frigate in a painting,
or something else
moderately large and
taut against a pitching wind:
possibly a plastic grocery sack.
wrap deep, wrap deep around me, deny
that form or sense have any meaning beyond
what i can give them. block out
this pounding and this horror at the threshold.
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