Evening Poem, March 25, 2021

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At twilight the great birds gather

In the naked sycamores

Their black wings rasping as they move

From branch to branch

Now they lift slowly

As if through water

Their wing whispers multiplied

Wild and magical sound of blessing

They drift now, and swirl

Following some leader

And vanish into the shadows of the pines

And the coming night

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copyright 2021

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