There are scavenger birds
in my head -
scorn hovering above the water
and white skies
I cannot circumvent the obvious -
the obvious,
that bastion which eludes me
am I coming or going
am I the island, the sea?
Forever stripped of heaven
hell bent and in-between
The birds are
soaring above my waters
I hear them even now
looking for survivors
hungry for the dead
tugging
pulling
unraveling
yet they have not found me
--
humbled,
-m.
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