The hope a mooncalf follows
is sacrifice for slaughter,
and yet the wings of swallows
still skip across the water. 

The Official Website of the Leading Formalist Poet 

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Swallows

 
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The Last Silesian

Above us: cawing rooks and grey clouds. Around us: leafless

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Crow

Crow, the doves descending on the square have sullied your

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Manichaeans

Indistinguishable from the dark, a rat crawls through debris. Above,

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© by Leo Yankevich
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