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Poem-a-Day
 
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Pigeon-Man: 16th Street BART Station

If love is two distinct natures
approaching but never
disappearing into one another
(that would be something else)
entirely, then all that is required
is a measure of millet
seed in the palm of a man
blurred by birds, their weight
on his thighs and arms all
he needs to know himself
needed, while they know only that
what they are used to finding
grain by grain on the ground
has been gathered together
and raised up.
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