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flocking

what folk songs would angels sing? 

round campfires with ashes which put- put out

in sky without oxygen, 

and without enough breath to sing. 

So it's visual, the song, 

the brown birds flocking down into it, a reflection on the river. 

All musicians are agnostic and requesting the same thing


Two Black dogs are running the park into night time 


one street lamp is howling back


keeping warm the street for promised comer-byers 

though still untouched

struck by the grateful bell

ringing 

this world, this world, this world. 


Your orchestra, is 

what-air exists

between the wool

texture and ear


the reminder of life which briskness brings

is not in it's stinging kiss, 

but your survival of it.