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  • Three A.M.
  • Patricia Corbus

Curtains move above the lake       like some brooding king         taking a walk in his nightgown.       As waves of electrons         flow from the sun, our own electrons blow   like curtains opening and closing. Such tender brevity,       these flickering folds—     our own tiny neon nightgowns still sparking fancies         out of natural,           actual fire. [End Page 266]

Patricia Corbus
Sarasota, Florida
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