ant5

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in the seams

of the red pillow

a fragrance

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under the porch

sightless

bugs

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green nitrogen

of the wordless

years

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the snails

let us see

the fish again

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all that’s

left in the garden

one white rose

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something

dead in

the tool shed

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we are given

the gift of

a lamp shade

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later

the salt sifts

out of your cuff

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the road

to the lake quiet

except for the train

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