Wiring Home
Lest the wolves loose their whistles
and shopkeepers inquire,
keep moving; though your knees flush
red as two chapped apples,
keep moving, head up,
past the beggar's cold cup,
past fires banked under chestnuts
and the trumpeting kiosk's
tales of odyssey and heartbreak
until, turning a corner, you stand
staring: ambushed
by a window of canaries
bright as a thousand
golden narcissi.
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