Wild is
(on the last flocks of November)
wild is small sharp sounds
rising through black, bare-limbed trees
wild is the weak
slant-light of morning
wild is uninvited, intrusive
discordant
wild is sudden
wild is imperative, urgent
wild is now and now
and now again
wild is a restlessness
a knowing
a coming together
wild is long fluid lines
spilling across an azure sky
wild is ragged and unstable
wild is perpetually adapting
wild is a fathomless
round eye
wild is feathers and fat,
muscle and hollow bones
wild is the cry of the straggler
desperate to catch up
wild is the cold hard fate
of those left behind
wild is thousands of wings
wild is the flock rising as one
over stubbled fields
wild is the wind
wild is the coming storm
wild is the snow
falling now in silence
to sanctify this precious
darkening world
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