I hear a death rattle,
from the wind.
Death of Winter,
new life of Spring.
There runs a creek,
I dont know where... I see only brick.
When the diembodied voices meet with my ear,
there abounds no wonder of who is there or here.
I wonder for two men,
of whom, without, I am malcontent.
One rests far away,
the other rattles in thought.
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