Hawks in the Heart

I don’t pretend to know

the words that pierce

your bark.

 

Wings in the face.

Hawks in the heart.

 

Close my eyes,

wait for the fall

and the leaves—

bleed that maroon

red.

 

Sooner or later,

you come back

to bed; we wait

for the impotent

sun.

 

I don’t pretend to know

the reasons you protect

your heart.

 

But I often pretend

it doesn’t mark me.

 

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