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Bird in constant need worm or twig or water you take time off to pad sponge-rubber-soled and pause alongside looking with me where the overhang of evergreens opens to the variable sun and running light strings the cones, and needles make soft footwork on the floor

We stand in an iota of time our silence the letter ``O'' zeroing in on all possible We share a straight eye-line, before us a book of pictures without words

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Pages turn, images pass scaled-down in shadowed brightness on the cutting edge of voice

so swift an exchange so deep an impression

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