Speech Acts for a Dying World

A field sparrow is at my window, tapping at its reflection, a tired antique god trying to communicate it’s getting to me as I set out to sing the nimbus of flora under a partly mottled sky as I look at the end and sing so what, sing live now, thinking why not I’m listening and receiving now and it feeds me, I’m always hungry when the beautiful is too much to carry inside my winter when my library is full of loss full of wonder when the polis is breaking and casts a shadow over all of me, thinking of it

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