[At dawn
--cock's crow--
the trees explode:
a shrapnel of birds
wheels, screaming,
then forms a broken,
flickering cloud
that turns toward water,
keening.
The raddled grasses
rill and ripple
and whisper softly of snakes
and secrets.
Yet I keep walking--
warm sun, dry wind
--and look toward water,
dreaming.]
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