By Charles Bernstein

At dusk I found it silent there
And sudden caught it in my hand
It squeaked and hollered with despair
But I was young of ruthless mind.
I scooped and cupped it in my palm
So it would no more come to harm
Yet quick I knew to let it go
It was not mine to have nor hold.
E’er since that day I’ve gathered twine
To knot and glue unto a rime
Resigned that tunes will never bind
Shimmering shadows tossed in time.

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