Death of a Peacock

the way things used to be:

away from here
together

absent.

Adventures,
finding where I do believe it’s true

on a journey

tired eyes
can’t ease tense brow,

thoughts of dis-rememberance.
Static, not static

though weaves clouds across
what surface?

What breath (not) natural?
Waiting for a time,

always waiting
on a different time,

holes
taking holes.

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