a war

singing in the night. Drunken

hard as a figurative dawn

without trees, no God

burning on the sand

clouds dark

moon falling

the herd,  a coloured skin

prevented

they came and smoked out the cattle

first

how much will you love

in the white distance of the skies

endless

unrimmed

 

young people talk

eyes watching, and I stand

at the back, reversed

while birds drip laments

 

death is carving names on bark

with stainless blades

 

a pendulum swings of flutes

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