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Poems

Concerning Your “Love Association”

There is a child in a stroller

to the right of me, blowing

on a whistle, sharply, as

he flaps his hands

 

A bird with broken wings,

screeching through its

tiny beak, while hawks

circle overhead

 

A certain hawk that I

look up to, a phantom

predator which has been dead

for years and yet still flies with the rest

 

The hawks that still live

who desire such vulnerable

birds I deplore, and yet what

should I think about the one long dead?

 

If only this child in his stroller

had talons strong,

so that he could not be

preyed upon

 

If only that dead man

were not a demon

his flight would then

have been graceful