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Raft winds aimlessly
sloshing down churning river
moon for company.
Possum and racoon
tuck into sublime feast spilled
from broken garbage.
My aching prayer.
Snowflakes drifting on the wind
delicate and still.
Cold, ivory moon
hangs in still autumn sky.
Keen harvest sickle.
My familiar stops
and gazes somewhere I can’t.
Composed as a ghost.
Green colander my
helmet broom my spear catcher’s
mitt my codpiece
Fierce comfort of night
blizzard covers my regret
in blue hush, gently.
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