On Earth

But what on earth have you
gotten yourself into
what happened to the province
that held the mottled islands
in the rounding rivers below
and the wrens that plotted there
or slept in the contrails of providence before them
Where do they scatter in a sky that
surely must be falling
Now what shines with rhyme
their far cries of the world
trawling head first
into stems of rain
Now what

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