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The Lonely Poem

Being somewhere you are not
which seems everywhere & always,
this how it is: creek bed stretching

to the backwards gibbous moon,
the loam & now this owl, a grey

It’s not like I plan
to make something of this,
the creek, moon, loam, but how

can I help seeing the owl
between us heading further
& deeper into the darkness,

I trying to believe it is sleeping,
only, & could wake anytime.