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Unconscious Hymn of a Freed Layer Hen

Sun shifts and sinks
hair to shaft, flesh to bone.
Sun long ago burned metal cage
from mind and I have
no memories.
Sun passes through me
to earth, makes the top
of my head red red, hot
and dry like sun.
I see life in hard dusty rock
held under nail and claw,
and it is dirt, the dirt,
crusting and climbing
scale to scale, feather to skin.
Even when air turns cold
and gray comes down,
slanting sun hits ice on ground
heating and soaking
my hard feet into harder soil.
In morning
when purple meets black
tiny sun pieces
mingle with instinct;
my legs ready and my wings
tremble, and I welcome
the gift that is not a gift
because my kind knows nothing
of gifts.

It is sun, it is earth, it is me
holding light and dirt together
just for now.

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