249 Clark Chatlain pelican I can almost remember how the tides of your prehistoric eyes carved the moons in the marshes of time how your bill drew fish from the lakes late named for our own saints where history washed blue into deeper pasts of forgetting when your own being swayed and held on cold waves under white skies now my farewell means almost nothing as we fade from a shining world taking nothing good not understanding not compassion while your flight before the sun will be my last vision I know nothing
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