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Rue des Cinq Diamants

January 26, 2012

Four pigeons, three pigeons,

four pigeons

are scavenging in patterns,

absently mongrel shades of lilac


focused, though:

digging for gold,

drilling for oil,

between damp cobblestones

and passing cars,

under sky of chalk which they also ignore


last night the rain drifted in fine, fine drops,

hardly more than a mist,

through thick amber light

that kept unwinding through the hours


here below, ever, the work to channel the stream,

to funnel the energy,

in order to withstand the strength of malices,

those interior and exterior forces that are no stranger

and yet still surprise by merely appearing, quivering, in the doorway,

where you never left them.


Bring the cloak of invisibility!  The magic wand!  Mutter the secret incantation!


Striving to pull answers out of the fire, bright glowing diamonds now,

instead of letting them burn

and waiting to sift through the ashes for one’s treasures,

to find, later, only cool glass beads


ha!  laughable/unphotographable

three point five pigeons.

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