a murmur

I want to see matters before
the sun rises, in a way
like mad hatters -yet still analyzes.

I want to walk slowly in
view of the mountains,
with flocks of black starlings
murmuring – counting.

I need to retrace you with
scripts of profession, the
kind that embraces, encourages –
freshens.

And here in my twisting, revolving
release- enlisting your
breathless entreaties – I cease.

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