Your mission is swim forward
even and especially when finches lie
dead on country roads and the hole
is the sky is the toothless mouth
of the world
All the while you're waiting
shabby little violin student,
shabby little violin, wheeling laps
around bad habits in efforts
to study them
keep going. Any minute now
the sky will change again
from light grey to purple-grey.
someone will undo the latch
and the instrument will sound,
find you standing and knocking at the door
of your body,
where finally the dripping maples the rain the dusk clouds, lime green finches ---even your tiresome self---
will let you in.
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