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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.

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2017 Freshwater Literary Journal  

Professional literary journal produced at Asnuntuck Community College

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