Fleda Brown
Things must return
from their journey outward –
the frayed ends of hawsers,
bones whitened and lightened,
feathers (bedraggled
is the only word for it, like a dog’s tail
through mud) –
must return from the dolors
to their primary colors.
Humans have a stake in such
things – the eye’s eye
with its three cone receptors,
the mind’s eye that ties
everything up in three dimensions.
Sometimes, though, a small,
fish-shaped, slipping
curve, comes


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