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Where You Were Headed

A poem.

February 29, 2012



Where You Were Headed

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It didn't matter. It was how the pileated woodpecker
 squatted to her belly
 and draped and dipped her neck,
 one side,
  then the other,
 to her chest
 in a rivulet of melted snow.
 It was how the wind
  rubbed across the pines
 and the clear melt
 washed down every road rut
 all that afternoon.
  – Franco Pagnucci

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