one day

sometime, one day
some day, soon;
the wind whistling–
to my back–
two tunes in unison:
the melancholic melody of a croak
on hard pebbles,
lose– mind your step
    mind your heart

yes, a whistle
in the wind carried
on wings,
       a flock that illuminates
the idiosyncratic path
back home
back to
             before

is this what falling
feels like? a thousand
tiny needles
crawling up my skin;
the ominous wheeze
of a crow, white:
                            “forevermore”.

and fear, yes
of getting lost,
blissful,
in infinite doodles,
lines along lines that arch
in-between arteries, synapses
of recognition
a routinary lightning of the brain–
     the soul alit

but if I am to tumble
may it be
through these empty skies
             drenched in golden light,
along this blinding crow
this singing frog?

notes crashing on the soil:
music the creator of flowers
from wilt, from dirt
one of these days

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