that the moon has become
hangs
a golden bowl
in the dark.
The hooting
of the great
horned owl
sloshes
back and forth
in the basin
of the night.
Where
have you been,
brother?
What
this night
has given you
return
to the lofty
limbs of the
too tall pines
along the ridge?
What has
set you free
to return
to this place
of peace
and quiet
along the
shores of the
thawing lake
and crashing
falls?
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