Sunday, March 29, 2020

Free Deer Park

Can we imagine any
Kind of difference that isn’t?
On this abandoned mountain,

The only signs of people
Hover as words whispering
To each other in the air.

This is no kind of difference
From what isn’t or what is.
Reality is neutral

Within the whispers’ circle.
White cliffs interchange sunlight
For moonlight. Stars are too dim.

Whispers sink into lichen.
The deer browse on the mesa
Where no one shoots or owns them.

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