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ISSUE:  Summer 2007

Why does each evening up here
always, in summer, seem to be
The way—as it does, with the light knifing low from right to left—
It will be on the next-to-last one?

The next-to-last one for me, I mean.
There is no music involved,
so it must be the light, and its bright blade.
The last one, of course, will be dark.
And the knife will be dark too.


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