Jordan Davis

wyoming
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sandhill crane

again, he hears her first
a bright ripple on the breeze
pulses of lonely trilling

glancing skyward he catches
an hallucinatory glimpse
of her sand-stained wings

as if to avoid his gaze
she glides effortlessly into the
blinding back-light of the sun

she emerges head first
her red eye-mask glowing
in the midday illumination

overhead, she trills again
she circles and watches him
she is as curious as he
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