When
everything’s in fire,
unstable in
the wind of ire,
it comes out
of me.
When
everything’s cool,
there’s a yearning
owl,
It returns
to me.
I see it,
hold it all the time
it can sing,
it can rhyme,
with the
whole of me, I taste
find a place
for it to nest,
it’s not for
sale or hire,
There’s for it in it a desire.
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