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Writer's pictureShane Gannaway

8/29/2023

the light thrown over the street

causes shadows to go flying,


catching my periphery. beams

from cars, stuck for seconds


in time. like a bug in sap, frozen

and fossilized for the future?


no. no, not like that at all. fleeting

and bright and gone and we’re home,


you’ve forgotten what you were

going to tell me and my memory


has failed me as to an errand

I’d meant to run. later, I’ll paint

the town a muted tan and you

will watch the dog. the machine

runs, the sprinkler sprays,

water flows, and so on.

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