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on this windy hogback
while the spring mud dries
wildflowers leap to the low oak branch
straight up into the smacking lips
of a rock squirrel calmly
stuffing his gut with pure colors
himself half flying on the nodding branch
he looks around for raptors while he chews

even when his pollen smile grows dim
these flowers will be thought forms in his flesh

so flower flesh merges with flying flesh
the day he joins the red hawk's dance

then after the soaring hawk ejects
the puzzle packet of his skin and bones
these colors and the pleasure in them
return to the sunward climb

Copyright 04/93 Robert N. Erman

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