"WILL
That day arrives, against your will,
however tardy, you know it will.
Where are the powdery wings of the moth?
What remains of its self-destructive will?
You lie in your tent by the golden fire,
hear the horned owl and the whip-poor-will.
A dog barks one note throughout the night.
You point your pistol, but lack the will.
Under a stack of paperback thrillers –
the strongbox holding Ruth's last will."
Ruth Holz*r in Lynx
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