for those already brazen in duty
two cardinals clinched in a tangle
of
winters
brittle
wild grape vine
the gnarled knuckles of an entire hillside’s bare branches
scribbled
upon the cold sunset
burning as it is known to burn
burning against the chest
and burning under the chin
burning without burning all that lay before it
asking for nothing but this survival
a new day clothed by night
awaiting its own birth.
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