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12 A not h e r Hor i zonta l Ly r ic The yellow ball stays where the boy has thrown it, stalled in the air inches from the nose Of a leaping border collie who hangs a foot above the ground. The boy’s arm is stuck At a characteristic angle, cantilevered. In a lawn chair his mother holds the brush that will never reach her toenail, One drop of pink levitating just above her skin. So many cars immobilized. A lawn mower founders, Fountaining green. And in a dark bedroom, a woman hesitates forever above the transfixed body Of a lover, seized up for the incoming stroke. Time is a mercy of completion, our nerves Going up in meaningless smoke, our animal hearts released. ...

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