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Persistence I followed the plains; followed the plains; past the cotton; past the grain; past the flat; past gold hawks…And past old Amarillo, off a road—poured and pocked, the plains dropped in a great canyon! I gaped, stunned. Two doves flew out of my eyes; doves, our birds, flew out of my eyes; down; down, skimming rough, Palo Duro rims; down; down, past pinked, millennium scars; down; down, to the yawning river below—to cool….to drink…then fly back up; back in to my eyes; these birds, love birds; to make love in my head; beaks, thin beaks, still wet with drink from a river so slight, birds ruffled and bathed; a river so slight, that it soaked, dried and stayed on the bellies of doves—right there, (continues) -76- inside my head. Look what can happen when you follow the plains; look what can happen when you veer off man’s roads; when you unleash your eyes—a wisp of air stirred by wing, flute and wind; a taste of pink persistent time, sculpting; sculpting canyons without end. -77- ...

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