“He Knows.”

 

Silken, static air

stills

a conspiracy of clouds,

until

the Coriolis forces

them to

cry aloud,

“He knows!”,

before they separate.

 

From left to right,

the birds-on-wing

begin to murmur…

… “Everything is set aright!”…

“Too late, is not the cry!”,

the night responds…

… as shooting stars fly by,

with twinkling eyes

and

breathless Hermes,

speeds the message,

joyfully across the skies.

 

 

 

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