The Echoes

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When I was lost

I saw a V of Geese ride the eddies

one of them struggled but they kept shape

they are heading to somewhere warmer to survive

in the coldness of grief my nest is a begging bowl of emptiness.

 

Sky offers keys to escape ourselves and should you find a feather

take that feather, take that gift for the torturous current.

I read of a widower who removed his partners things

when all was done, he wept at the echo but knew

these are not hauntings, they are deaths music.