his arms wide, but his eye catches on
the sun so as limbs enfeather they
grow too large and you have a cattle-
killing eagle which wasn’t the plan
so he shakes away the unwanted
form and stretching wide again breathes in
the crisp air of the summit so his
white arms now vanish in snow he asks
who and again answers himself no
then before another attempt peers
down at the most recent hunger and
the cat curled by the warm palace door
a dappled sweet-singing sparrow
when dead could be the key he needs
other animals 
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