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instinct
she is
so intense in her fear:
her nostrils quiver
at the scent of society's danger;
caught in the glare
of each stranger's casual glance
she turns,
no defense except vigilance,
gracefully shivering
to the rhythm of footsteps that pass
and when my eyes
ensnared hers
I could feel her ask me to speak
for my humanness --
its inborn evil...
© Jon Bohrn (1998) ("After the Rains")
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