July 17 (in which I try to write and format a poem on a smartphone and it goes predictably badly…)

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The late-July breeze, distinctive
in ease, a quiet morning slipping by,
I wake and say I’m here! I’m here! somehow
still a fear of loss, despite the day unfolding
like a lawn chair, predictable, light-weight


To have, to hold– a leaf-dappled scene
a girder on the building, perforated
at regular intervals and the word
EMPTY over and over, is it a warning?
or a confirmation


There is so much space inside
these days, so little tethering
them in place, you think
an uncontrolled fall from there, 
you think the myriad faces, the counterparts,
negating, rescinding


A wisp of clouds here, but thunder
in the pass, maybe a loss
of temporality– a sweet sparrow
call, it’s so peaceful here,
so where am I exactly?


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