Lost sheep are hard to count,
they appear most in an unlived life,
bleating at the distant edge
of a storm.
Often there are too many voices,
all speaking
from the same cramped space.
He has to listen, while the sheep
encircle,
they have disjointed minds,
the babble drains him
as he sleeps.
Eventually
a window breaks the night,
stray thoughts
plod away one by one.
He needs wool for his...
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