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Your steel-eyes reach into the morning,

coronae of blue advancing into the familiar

Charcoal portrait of night.

 

You brocade the distance with

an awareness of its unfamiliarity:

who drew; what advances?

 

The answer would astound

every daily declension,

but still you spend the whole day

waiting for one legible word

to jolt through the sky.

 

Poem by: Michelle Campagna

 

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Taken on May 16, 2008