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Look into the trees, gentle
your eyes, engage your ancient talent
for spotting movement.
Listen for the breeze to pick up.

You will see dozens descending,
an alien visitation, sinuous,
silent, sliding to earth
from hawk height.

They come to rest in dry creek beds,
amassing on mossened rocks.
The forest floor - always
covered in them - thickens.

They arrive dead
in certain obvious ways.
But to those who look along time:

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