by Daniel Potter
The rooster finds love rising
before dawn. Declares
our last resort: enjoy the pain!
Hear echoes in your cry for help, Comanche
shouting ride the horse.
Feathers flying mean you feel
big spaces, hunger's attention, longing love.
Who's not seduced when rippling patterns lift
our smiling to a god in lakes of fish?
Remember, gravity in Captain Death's museum
shapes the soul's mantle through appearance
but who will share her innermost resort?
Sh. The Pope is washing feet.
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