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Three Wisdoms James B. Nicola That there is a beyond to the mackerel sky and a purpose in shades of gray that signal the radiance of a white albeit far away; That the arrow I shoot (which soars on high, hits not a thing, and then falls) is a bird for a span of a single flight as I try to transcribe its calls; But that purpose, the beyond, is just a term, like love manquÊ: And all three, by definition, must be somewhere far away. But I have met, and imagined, you. As birds take to air, then, so I, driven if aimless in what I do, or where I go, or why, go again and again, as love’s a draught, and as air must be breathed, and the hand of flesh pull and thwack, even if laughed at everywhere we land.


2017 Freshwater Literary Journal  

Professional literary journal produced at Asnuntuck Community College