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Memory

Over the night a bull
Whispers into a coal

:Unmeant in the stall to sit and plate,
But sixth, with all the senses,
To consume—
Incorporate—those signal
Impressions which are (we know) its fate:

In explosions, in hard strides,
His coattails fly; to bits, to friends
Craven and brave.

Sadness undulates at their back.

His lilt’s a cotillion of flies.

But how he charges, he commits!

Each to the next.

It seems unfair, a target lies
Between its shoulder blades.
And another whisps right back:
A drop of blood would pin back his wild hair
Which wanders as it wills
A sunset like acupuncture
Posted 04/15/13
published in Great Guns, Canarium Books, April 2013
Books by Farnoosh Fathi
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