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3

The Birdwatcher

Wearing tweed and shoes that lace, marring morning sun-slicked dew, glistening trail of slug

I trace and find snail joy entwining two.

Bird on bird is quite remote

but snail on snail is nerve on nerve, wet on wet and curve on curve, dancing, prancing, goat on goat.

Is there another in the world seeking love lost or never gained? seeking to be wrapped and twirled, refusing to become explained?

I’ve taken countless nature walks, have climbed so many flower stalks, I hate to think that I’ll grow old knickered and crepe-soled.

January 8, 1984

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