Quiet - I'M Weeping.
Arrow's echo
bouncing off birch trees
capturing sound in it's wind:
blue birds at the screaming peak of hunger,
rustling of ants with the last haul of insects before winter
down deep into quiet tunnels of perfectly rolled soil and sand,
the singular first drop of rain on a crackling red leaf
still holding it's breath 'till it turns brown,
four hawks in a circular flight
bleeding the wind in wings
and me, lost in autumn
shot from your bow
last year.
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