June 27

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poetry

was it the sparseness
offset by silence

or the roundness
of the number

eclipsing the rest
days, days, the lack

of antacedence
how do I begin

to formulate a response
it’s unsettled here

dry when it should
be raining

charged
with anticipation

a bee came in
the open window

and then left
nothing happens

of course I doubt
your fortuity

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