I am not atrustworthy
witness. When accused
I crumble. Anger
burns my tongue, sour in my throat.
Days of harvest. Thistles browned.
Lupine dried. Wild oats
empty themselves to open beaks.
Air alert with leashed thunder--
I have not yet put winter away.
The night-planes whine like wasps
We sleep beneath haunted skies.
When do i stop to pray
excep silently?
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