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Birds on a Powerline Mama Mary's counting them Again. Eleven black. A single Red one like a drop of blood Against the sky. She's convinced They've been there two weeks. I bring her another cup of coffee & a Fig Newton. I sit here reading Frances Harper at the enamel table Where I ate teacakes as a boy, My head clear of voices brought back. The green smell of the low land returns, Stealing the taste of nitrate. The deep-winter eyes of the birds Shine in summer light like agate, As if they could love the heart Out of any wild thing. I stop, With my finger on a word, listening. They're on the powerline, a luminous Message trailing a phantom Goodyear blimp. I hear her say Jesus, I promised you. Now He's home safe, I'm ready. My traveling shoes on. My teeth In. I got on clean underwear. 23 New Poems ...

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