both above them and below
from the distance and the depths
the infant storms just being born
free range dust-devils
practicing their pirouettes
and the gray-bearded tornadoes
that eat sparrows like grain
they all disappear before the rain
into the labyrinths of the hedgerows
or out-fly their threadbare nets
cast languidly over the laggard hills
yet it’s these storms they owe
for carrying the bodies of their songs
out beyond all the stars we know
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