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After Seeing Her

ISSUE:  Summer 1997

The middle of the night
has come very early.
Eyes flame too fast
through empty downtown.
Benches in subway stations
prop up human bags
to barely return to Brooklyn.
It is Sunday. No one appears
to have prayed. In millions
of apartments children still
play games, don’t wash faces.
Leaves rattle but air isn’t breezy,
The dark seems mass produced,
different grays on shelves
without enough light for sales.
Nerves have taken their pills
and rest. Shadows of worry
and loneliness step routines
slowly syncopated
to the melody of a slower shiver.


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