Little Elegy

20 10 0206

 by Keith AdamsEven the stars wear out, their great engines fail.  The unapproachable roar and heat subside.  And wind blows across the hole in the sky with a noise like a boy playing on an empty bottle.  It is an owl or a train.  You hear it underground.  Where the worms live that can be cut in half and start over again and again.  Their hearts must be in two places at once, like mine. 

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