This is where you’re quiet,
And this is where you’re not.
In this way you remember,
Except when you forget.
The stars are not to be trusted—
Even they drift like stellar snow.
The very earth beneath you
Is unstable as the economy.
The hobos digging in the dirt
May be coyotes in disguise.
Late at night after much wine
You can sometimes see the gods
Perched in the branches of the sky.
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