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Epiphany
I had little expectation
when I set out this morning
for a walk on the beach -
long strides, arms
swinging high,
toes digging deep for purchase
my prints straight as a chalk line .
There I was chugging
along
with nothing in my head
but a commercial jingle
one I had listened to at
breakfast
playing over and over
as repetitive as ripples in the sand
as repetitive as the
waves
from the impact of my footfall
radiating out to a tidal pool
scattering the small fish
there
their coordinated flight taking
the shape of a fluttering flag.
How remarkable was that -
each one instantly pivoting and turning
each in total synch with the other.
How like my own mindless
echoing
of a mantra designed
to fix a product in my brain
that would have me cha
cha chaing
in step with thousands
through the retail aisles.
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The Dead Bird
And then,
deceived by its own image,
a moment of carelessness
and it was into a window pane.
As sudden as that -
the fall a graceless spiral
to the ground where it lay
neck oddly angled
one wing extended
as if of half a mind to fly.
And then
partially engorged
by an earth-colored snake
glistening in the hot sun
where it has been caught out.
As if the bird has paused
in its foraging
to peer into the open maw -
pushing to see
deeper.
And then
beyond darkness
in the deep shade
beneath the cabin's deck
along an uncoiled length
to the belly of the snake.
The slow peristaltic transport,
a final flight of sorts.
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