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ISSUE:  Spring 1959

Cain with Thorns rose neither late nor soon
To witness, from the vantage of his arc,
The hundred cycle of a little moon,
Its month in minutes: dark, to full, to dark.
Unrisen Sirius, by Orion keeping
Faithful company time out of mind,
Heard the muffled barks above the beeping
And recognized another of his kind.
Informed of what we neither saw nor heard,
We wanted reassurance it was tame;
All day we memorized a foreign word
That night might seem familiar when it came.
    None, in comfort’s pale of wind and fog,
    Would whistle home the Hunter’s newest dog.


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