caught in a bird's beak
or the squirrel still twitching
in the middle of the road
while bloody tires
revolve someone home -
I will show you the worm
deep at work in the dirt
of a long abandoned farm
turning in continuance
of softening, cultivating
a soldier of the earth oblivious
to anything remotely human
or that the farm is empty, run -
down to nothing but old boards
license plates still nailed onto
onto an old garage. And you wonder
what the purpose is, why the farm
once stood proud - windows
gleaming with fresh eyes
full with the thrill of reflection
green fields wet with dawn
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