Epic

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Epic

The chipmunk
skits across
the stone border
that corals
the rose bush,
thorns and tangle,
her cheeks
stuffed
with sunflower seeds
fallen below
the birds’ feeder;
she pauses and sips
the air,
the only breath
instinct
will allow
her to relish
before she
descends
into dark tunnels
where life
is stored,
where winter
will attempt
to slither and worm,
slink away
with all
but death.

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