Were it able to see now, fully
it would lose its instincts;
the wind would cease to feel on its wings.
Okay, stranger: the breeze has blown us together.
My childhood, now, spins away from me;
You and my childhood spin toward and away from me.
It is never not spinning; tho we tweet and tweet
(the birds themselves tweet! and I do know you)
and tweets themselves proceed from now to backwards, changing
our experience of reading (from up to down
to down to up)...
the breeze is blowing and piling everything up and up.
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