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And Now They Graze Near the Edge of Time

read by the author

                  Glide always beneath your meaning

not burning away          not consuming              being ever being

       Our story has no end and no beginning

                  We have learned the final skill

        language of leaf and fur                rising bole

    We have learned the oldest thing


        a riffle of fur on the far hill

         a smoke-shadow

                    then nothing

        We are becoming quiet as stones

            Time stuns our paws, time flows
                 in shoreless pools around our ears.       

    Glide always beneath your drums, your smudged horizons

  We disappearing                          we, all standing still.

(Macropeus Giganteus from The Birds at Pirra)