hesitant petal pulling,
fully knowing the End in sight
to let it sink with the gloaming
or glide and rise
little by
little as it does
to a steady wavered pause
give it not Name, then fright
rifts in the pavement
a surge West in the salt-scented tide
careening, wings slanted
graceless gulls and blackened hawks
be downed alike
afore this wall of a wind
that tentative gale and ride sublime
no entry for the feigned or strained
the strangled of Heart floundering in flight
soul shallowed, then swallowed
wretches coarsened through that Meter’s grit
the sallow-face’d One still singing softly
come all, petal-pull
slowly
ever again
slighted Below
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