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ISSUE:  Autumn 1983
When no animals lean out
of the night sky
and the streets are
littered with the blackened
stars and flames of leaves,
in dead water I walk
the calendar’s last arc.
Then halos crown old cars
and toys left out in the rain
shine like new on paths
between dark houses where
the noise of television fills
the rooms and the shaded windows
flicker like dreamers’ eyes.


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