Soul Forensics

in collapse’s aftermath
it’s suddenly apparent

you have new eyes

with a chance to clean the net
you find connections:
tiny forks of tiny branches
tucked together
as if woven by a small bird
on a high limb in a billowing tree
in a universe of chances

you find what bound your nest
of fragile circumstances,
where all the faulty transformations
open-mouthed, fed by you, had nested

how, as you fed, you looked at them
with only furtive glances
never doing anything to change
what evidence suggested

because you grasped at all
the thing collapsed
and now a devil dances

by Jim Culleny

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