old stray paths

within the drift and shelter of dust

that settles, nothing covers all of all

an unexpected instant draws the veil

for those who drop their time

to look past memories and expectations

could our evidence of order be much older?

does the absence of a name forget its place

that histories of lies could not erase?

wherever rhythm hears us listen

will a ghost divulge his form?

open, let back meet forth

tiny eyes, ancient clawed feet

beaks and feathers

hollow bones of wing

for primitive bent H. sapiens minds

to build high nest on branch

or carve deep hole in trunk

tree becomes a cradle

a refuge, a place of birth

some call this life

that speaks in deeper and softer voice

than which we now are accustomed

a wind around the ears

that only empty shells have ears for

world before symbol

whole beyond component

before a facet of beads with sharpened bone

before stone cut exact to sit unmoved on stone

to old stray paths converging and diverging

many stories never told are yet stories

whispering to our resting spirit

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