After Lucille Clifton
plane landing in berlin, i saw a fox on the tarmac
beneath the wind, the fuselage, its eyes barbed like concertina
wire. was it a dream i do not know and dangerously, i took it as a sign my ache would end.
it didn’t, but that’s okay. what would we all give for moments like that: pure hope
materializing on the bodies of animals we’ve seen lurching in those places they don’t belong,
how they refuse to recede, how they hold on, proving every human wrong.
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