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Michael H Lester




a two-bit hustler
in the silver-dollar saloon
throws snake-eyes
those loaded dice no match
for the outlaw's six-gun

cherry pits
dry on the windowsill
I imagine
a hanami festival
in my own backyard

the cuckoo
with its guttural croak
and black bill
vanishes in the foliage
like a thief in the night

in search of the truth
these cracked brown feet
have scaled mountains
weathered fierce blizzards
and forged raging rivers

perched on a limb
this troubadour sparrow
a bewildering assortment
of enchanting birdsong

its feathers
shimmering jet black
the raven
pecks at the cobblestones
one eye on the children

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