OK it comes in the guise of a river poem too.
HOMO SAPIEN LOOKS AT HIS HOME WORLD
You know you are on your own
when all there is
is you and a small wader bird
o which it's difficult to put a name
doing an inherited dance on the waterline
where the water glitters
like precious stones in the sun
as tide and wind force
make it lick the shore -
the liquid is visceral and alive
enough to look like it
might gently and quietly
draw the bird inside.
Life is different from an obtuse angle.
bw
James
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