Short Unforeseeable Poems

The companionable ills, short heavy breaths
 with which I force the wind into my blood,
 chill and whisper- that I am not 'complete',
 that my youth has 'run dry', and yet this poison lets
 me the world unfolding with unforeseeable possibilities:
 the jut skulls of mountains, fields of ripening wheat,
 ubiquity rising like a dove above the landscape
 and thundering down along the troubled feet of the city,
 I am at home with my lonely sorrow....

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