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If I should return like I once did

Animals will mark me with brown infant eyes

The same eyes whose lids I kissed the high grass in which they sit

Is shoulder length and hanging on your forehead

A week is four years in ancient hive minds

And soon those eyes begin to well up

Your shallow grave concealed by fragrant leaf piles

Black glistening bird eyes averted

When the police bring me in (x6)

We’ll tell them «this is why we need secrets»