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8/31, 8:31

Three gulls escort the dusk to ruby silence
Above the freeway bridge. The gulls seem black
As crows. Venus blazes spark, and contrail track
Extends in bluesmoke peach to cirrus islands.
Black branches paw the breeze. No turning back.
Posted 08/22/17
from Cathedral and Highrise (Rose Alley Press, 2015); first published in The Smoking Poet
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