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poetry

Foresight

You will leave them knowing this: there will be winters

Culling Song

Raggedy sparrows dart in and out of my hedge.

& I Kind of

& I kind of sometimes want to quit this town

Bokuseki*

Iris blades cut through the last ice on the pond.

Mute Swans

And the departures: the mute swans flying out of the dawn.

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