In river shallows, minnows freely eat what glistens there. A little further up the chain, the wading birds claim, too, what's theirs. The ant has found its clod of sugar, and the spider has secured its pantry. What kind of luck is yours? Card of the sauntering fool capped with melodic bells; of sharkless waters, full cups and benevolent swords— It's a deck made up of singular scenarios, pulled then spread out on the table. The moon is always cusped, or always on the wane. The pleated shade in one window might not match its twin and the circuit breaker box is upside down; you haven't had a full night's sleep in days, but you're convinced change is coming: a shift, a turn; a good wind to shuffle the cloudy dark.
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