The paperclip binding the paper’s edge.
Reminds me of a poem I have written
And While crossing the Sonoran desert
A Roadside sign read something of eagles
I looked across the farm fields at the earth.
I saw the many hands at their labors.
I saw some birds as they emptied my heart..
Hearing with my eyes, their wings and feathers
A being “the edge of the eye” perceived
Something unknown of was making a sound.
As a birth cry of hate’s incubus moaned.
I told the driver, he moved the mirror.
Saying something abotu keepint Down.
But waht I had seen I could Not DIsown.
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