my ears are tired.

my mountain is quiet.

i can hear the sunrise

and i can hear the

sunset. but the crow

must sit on my shoulder

when he talks to me,

unless he is finishing

the peanuts in my hand.

then he will stare at me

and i can hear his smile.

he tells me what’s happening

in the sky and what’s

happening in the corn.

he brings me a nickel

and he brings me a

dime. he drops them

in my purse. soon i will

be rich and i will buy

more peanuts and a

needle and some thread,

to sew patches on my

britches. in my brain

a harmonica moans,

a train rattles on and

the river is rising. in

my heart the moon is

weeping and the levy

is breaking. when my

world is silent i will

hear the angels sing.

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