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SIC TRANSIT
by Skip Fox

 

                                              breeze over dayspring         out

                           the window                          what is the body of

                                         trees but leaves           pulling to the south        re-

                       lax northward,         in waves              the elemental set into

                                  the elemental,      blue beaten thin            to light

                           orange          due east           dusty blue on the treeline

                                     and I'm wondering about prepositions . . .

 

                                 later,             

                                             dance of window pane and chair on

                                 carpet,     wind rising          in chamber of air

                       stuttering frame of shadows                 as worlds,      shuttle's

                            reticulations into morning          narrative of which

                                       we'll never know the end

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