In the morning
as I’m shaving
on a bright and
windy day
I glimpse something
quickly passing
by the window
—second floor?
Nothing could be
near that window
Are my eyes
deceiving me?
Could it be
a bird in passing?
It repeats:
that cannot be.
Like an arm
I see it flying
cast a shadow
on the wall
and my heart
is fairly pounding
hold the sink
or else I fall.
Then of course
the comprehension:
it is just a
simple branch
that I saw
peripherally;
getting old:
can’t take a chance.
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