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Sometimes under the paling sky
of false dawn, under his threadbare tree,
his tarpaper roof, under his faded
blue blanket, he dreams he is not a man.
He is a creature – an afterthought
of God – made of light and the awareness
only of its own motion, flying over
deep water, casting itself into the ditches
between waves.

Not a Man by J. Kyle Kimberlin is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.