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Drifting at Midday

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Now I can see: even the trees
are tired: they are bones bent forward

in a skin of wind, leaning in
osteoporosis, reaching

for a little more than any
oxygen can give: when living

is in season, they can live;
but living is no reason

to continue: everything begins:
and everything is desperate

to extend: and everything is
insufficient in the end:

and everything is ending:
Now I can see: even the trees
Source: Poetry (September 2009)
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Drifting at Midday

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