ant5

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the red sun

seems to set

in the north

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back in our

underwear we grow

uncomfortable

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in the park

shade from

19th century trees

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quarter moon

won’t help us

find the chicken

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the mice

sift the dust

from the rafters

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hopping on

the weather vane

silent agitated jay

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he won’t let go

of the cup’s rim

the fly

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a corner of

the postage stamp

lifted by ants

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