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8/31, 8:31
by David Horowitz

Three gulls escort the dusk to ruby silence
Above the freeway bridge. The gulls seem black
As crows. Venus blazes spark, and contrail track
Extends in bluesmoke peach to cirrus islands.
Black branches paw the breeze. No turning back.

 

 

 

 

First published The Smoking Poet

 


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