The bird flew into his mouth
as though it were the opening of a cave circled three times round the first chamber before dropping into the second and third then plunged down swiftly and finally out through the bottom of his foot and he could see all the root hairs of the trees lit for that second like lightning and then he was standing again, in daylight the lingering leaves of the aspen were yellow though the last season he could remember was spring and when he coughed, a single feather the color of chestnut and honey issued into the air and he followed it, because that was simplest and he liked how it wafted so quietly through the first falling snow.
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AuthorWalker Abel Archives
July 2017
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