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Night in the Hollow
by Nick Zegarac

March,
I see the pallid moon submerge,
beneath a veil of steely gray dawn,
preceded by willows,
stripped gaunt,
dancing aimlessly in curly waves.
The milky caps of honeysuckle
drape along my window sill,
while far below,
black beetles swoon,
on chilled pebbles,
in the echo of curiosity born
hidden by the oceanís swell.













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