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Ross Harwood
Cloud of Birds

I love oblivion
An eminent shattering
All things flying apart
In every direction
No patterned order

A flock of birds in early morning
The black starling flecks
As pepper in the air

And that wonderful loneliness
Separateness and solitude
That becomes me
When they converge again
Over the small dark steam
Fluid and ephemeral

And this crazy idea
Of the other pair of eyes
Watching the same cloud of birds
From another point of view
That hasn’t struck me yet

The will beyond all wills
Turning doubt to trust
Muddy water cold
Clear through solid stone




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