shall the fissures of Earth actually win?
shall new continents form without our knowing?
how many dreams have already spilled from shaking hands?
and where do these dreams go,
washed away by rain
rattled into crevices by thunder
planted to be re-born as apples?
maybe all gardens are just the first garden
and the creme flesh of woman
shall once again have no fear of scales.
I cannot imagine a forest without rain,
life that doesn't feed off those that came before.
which falling star can claim to be an angel
or a bluebird with a broken wing?
don't cats already know each sparrow is numbered?
where is the factory of birds?
which politician could tell me?
I would vote for her
even if all the other candidates were women
just as clever.
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