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May 29


ISSUE:  Summer 2011

1.

A lucky rain
misted
the far hills to fresco

The lawn
a sexless
and austere green

Berries
on the dripping
eaves


2.

That little church was bigger than us.

The stained-glass glowed
like dull neon.

Aftershave prickled
and twined
with leather.

“I will”—
a spark—

a small lit candle.


3.

Ten floors up, doing
as we ought:

coming-together-and-breathlessly
falling apart

and once you whispered
“husband”

as if to name
some dark, illicit pleasure.

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