In a line,
one, two, three little ones in a line
follow their mother across
the road,
no cars,
a quiet day.
They head for water,
the cold water,
silent
like
a church day.
Out of the sky,
no sound,
swoops
down,
the red-shouldered hawk
grabs one of the
raccoons,
desperate,
dark,
and it doesn't rain.
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