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Procrastination poems


In this clearing, bats
flutter in sunset circles.

I brought my daughter here
as a child. Her echo now
in her brother’s eyes, laughing.


a fire at the end
the boy’s stick traces letters

playing with fire starts
with nine years, wood, a father
lost in a shooting-star night


she sleeps, her eyes
lost in dreams of a strange man
i once knew, i lie
in the dim dawn awaiting
a day I can’t remember

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