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the forest turns          & the line of mercury

moves further to one end. a roosting box

sways in the red wind. leaves brittle trellis.

                      tree-struck. cedar waxwings--

wingtips red like the malus apple

        they call from. sometimes, all we have

is what we cannot place

inside ourselves. but then, whose hands

       have built the bird house? whose father

planted the crabapples? whose word for son

is a pasture webbed open     in want of rain?

Louis Henry Vowell III is currently a second year MFA candidate in poetry at Columbia University.
He briefly raised sheep.

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