CAKE BATTER
MADE OF TROUBLE
I can hear the screech owl skimming the sky.
It's a shriek I don't want to hear. Right near,
a Summer sun sinks slowly and fat. They
raise a flag at sunrise and take it down at
sunset. Like regular-feet clockwork to
beat. It's a hundred daily moments
rolled up into one. The way they
handle that flag, it's like gold.
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