open your eyes

pole

the talking wires

shadow me on

my tiny-totem

trajectory

 

the half dozen geese

hail the october sky

as they sail into her

wide, waiting eye

 

the writer spider

evolves her steel

city delicacy under

the front-porch eaves

 

as the body of knowledge

creeps in through the

thinking crack in

the winter-wall

 

and all in the

span of a wink

totem

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