I think (I think!) there are thoughts
That contradict my thoughts, and Down I flutter and I am untrue, I am unmanned, Drunken, lazy layabout. Every contradiction is imagined, is Subject to the rules of time, space And prevailing weather conditions, Ms. Confusion. But it all fits, all in my Skull, or outside of my Skull. This part or that is one wing Flapping, one beady eye Of one crow, a black wing to stretch, Filled with wind, singed with sun, Half a mile in the air, black dots on Blue, without binoculars you would see none, But they float in light, and they Signal, I can barely read it now, It’s a text, I’m sure, it’s Giving and extending, anyhow, To be flying in this blue, For this black to be so bright, It’s a knowing veined with joy Of the clarity of height.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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