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first frost -- the kindling takes with a hiss
The lights in the street are gold or white or blue.
The primitive grass says nothing of what’s to come. ...
We have velvet theories about boys becoming men, the mysteries of plumbing ...
She bought a new car, a 4WD, and for the first time in her life, she was still unhappy.
She’s a delicate rose Found in flowery prose And I’m not her. ...
in death she will leave the shape of a cat
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After twighlight,
At her desk,
She ponders the implications of signing in crayon..