The landscape is changing,
grows over me, through me;
it does not honor who I am.

A family means walking
alongside other people
who become landmarks-

a fire on the ridge,
the shrill cry of
darkness calling
its progeny,

a worn white flag.

So we recognize
three things:

lightening rarely
strikes twice;

birds migrate
to the same grounds
late season,

thirdly, the strength
of light surrenders
to each evening.

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