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M. Kathryn Black

I do not feel alone.
A presence presses near;
I think it is the wind
that rings my garden bell,
and pattering feet that swell and disappear
around a sunlit corner
where the purple iris grow.

I watch my hands make shadow-birds
upon the wall; they glide and soar,
and when they part, two sparrows
fly their separate ways.
Within my heart I have these constant friends.

Questions keep me company:
What is the shape of the universe;
what is it that's between atoms.
Is time affected by absolute zero?
I tend these exotics in my mind,
travel corridors of consciousness.

I hear the world's bones
clacking in countless wildernesses
and bombed out cities;
wailing shakes me as I sleep.
So much evades my understanding.

A little girl laughs out back;
I go to look but no one's there.
The swing is still;
there are no footprints in the grass.



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