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Meadowlark (JLB 1/22)

A meadowlark sings

in the field across the way

where a young girl lies,

stone silent,

playing a game of patience

with the prairie dogs

and watching

the dry wind shake the grass.

She looks at the world she can touch,

but she sees the others:

the worlds of language, of sound,

of story and sight.

Worlds of where? and when?

She can touch those too,

if she tries hard enough.

She tries.

Alone, she walks the treadways of her mind

from one word-land to another,

waiting out the day

in the fields of thought

as the larksong travels up her spine

and into her memory.


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