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Richard Dinges, Jr.



Nothing in a sky

after sunset, before

dark settles, no color,

a dun that fogs

my eyes, not so

blind I cannot

see nothing, no

clouds to blur edges

or omens, what

my last vision

of this world may

be, only a black

streak of light from 

the last bird awake

to remind me

I am still bound

to stand this ground.

My Form

This form is who

I am.  It evolved through

millennia from a drop

of salty water to a pool

of blood and a slab

of meat.  Trial and error

distills meaning, forms

the soil I walk upon,

felt through bare soles.

Tree limbs wave

dry dead leaves at me, 

blur my vision before

I leave their gnarled

forms, gather myself

at the edge of open

fields.  I look up

to find I have fallen

from great heights

into a simple form that

chose a narrow path.

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