Migration From Rust

The water falls

Off the roof of the sky

Off the tin roof

It drips

.

It is tired

Of the rust

It created

That red-brown that

No longer follows

The heart of the water

.

So it falls

Down onto

The concrete

Into the blackberry furls

.

It falls

In circles

Of darker grey

That grows

Into a stain

Marking the

Migration

Of the marsh

Moving

In hope of a clean sky

Somewhere

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