observing my incision
between his nest and him
he cannot come to a decision
if the true location of his brood
will be exposed to enemy me
if he completes his mission
or if like a pendulum
furtive as nature he’ll
finally put me to sleep
drugged by summer’s heat
and drifting off into the cosmos
he’ll be able to return unseen
little Ulysses to his imperiled home
where his waiting children weep
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