stalk the goslings. the pond
their world. the field beyond
another unmarred nebula.
everything is still winter
gold, the daffodils on the hill
rogues. who knows
how they came to be
that far away from the road
the border garden our neighbor's
property line. free
as they are and as seeing as
they can be leaf
green and briefly pink
in their middles like vixen
tongues they know nothing
or everything about
the hunger of pups
or goslings. and brief
the black paw raised
and brief the black foot
paused, grass, daffodil, water
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