ant5

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the lexicon

of the bellies

of clouds

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green pebble

on the wet cement

it stops me

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setting the clock

my purpose

wanes

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wooden spoon

handle to stir

the eggs

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even here

pools of

water

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eggs

broken on

the shelves

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except for

the daffodils

everything’s green

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it’s raining

there’s no

later

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we see

less beneath

the willow

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sounds like it’s

in the fish tank

passing train

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