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Fish Ladder

Like a snake
it moves.
My poem.

You are not, what you were
in the night, lightning
the grey moon.

I hear, what you
did not say or did?
not think.

Even dark
forebodings, move like red
ants, from the slit eyes.

I cover the faults
via songbird, which
was calling, desperately,
unwaitingly.
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