Oscar owl
only weeps
at midnight
at the top
of a tree
that leans
he shims across
a burnt sienna branch as
fragile as his heart,
broken by
his bitter mate
she moved
to a cold, remote
forest in the north
he weeps
at midnight
in hopes that
his tears
will melt
the ice that
has forged
a great
and growing distance
between
his southern branch
and her northern forest
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