When faced with inclement weather, bison
all turn and move towards the storm.

On the other side there is no other side.

Just the same old continuum, the moment
before knockout, the knockout, and the fist.

When I was a bison I became a storm.
What is this beast come towards me?

And it was my life. And it was shaped                      

like a hand closing and opening, little yellow
birds and stars garlanding our crowns.

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