restricted access Middle Age
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23 Middle Age The morning paper slaps the driveway’s face And brings the wincing blush of dawn.A brace Of shrewd and ink-stained, unsubjective crows Are measuring and editing our street, While I review the paleness of my feet And curl an edge of carpet with my toes. An oily dimness floods the hand-loomed floor. It comprehends the corners, knows the hall The way a shadow understands a wall. I mark the rhythm of your muffled snore And almost envy how you navigate Your dark and shuddering forehead through a dream. The ebbing night and swelling morning seem To touch each other as they hesitate, And light invades the room—the sun is strong, The fractures in the ceiling, wide and long. This page intentionally left blank. ...


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