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August 12, 2001

the cock crows

If, truly, it is always darkest before the dawn, then I shall expect a rooster crowing.   But it will crow three times and I will be alone.

The last vestiges of guile sink behind me as I tack and sail my zigzag course.   On the far shore, the birds of prey wait and circle.   The wind picks up and the rudder breaks.   My arrival there is inevitable.

Now I bang the keys and produce noise until I tire.   Then I'll play a tune most sweet.

©  2001 by the beastmaster