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Saturday, July 7, 2018

Possum in the Compost

It feels like it always did
the way the sun drifts lazily across the blue robin sky
9r the moon and stars
punching holes in a sea of darkness
until they are swallowed by the dawn

These things I've always known and counted on
these constants and these sames

Until now
when they are not
nor will they ever be again

Not when it feels like it always did
no more