if you start with a parting,
how can you ever see the way through;
what you say when you’re starting
proves what you’re going to,
as though your heart’s “art-ing”
despite what it is you do;
like sunset birds harping
to the skies: “bring back the view”
then, frozen in time, caught carting
through, full, their simple, simple love,
eager, for flight, honest-charting,
chirping, swimming, singing, rhyming
the winds with their sway, departing,
but never, innocently so, for long.


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