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As Dusk Fell She was turning the pages of a book. Outside her window the trees were weaving a sky of trembling purples and reds. Voices rose from the pages like cicadas charting the direction of wind and the dimension of fields. outside her window the leaves were singing as if they were birds signaling departure. The pages of her book burned with all she held within her heart, children sweeping through the chapters like comets, the faces of her forbears surfacing like coins in newly plowed furrows in Acquilea. Turning the pages she saw corridors of rain, how even though her book was slender it held such mysteries. She was turning its pages as dusk fell and larks twittered sleepily, turning, as the stars flung out their crystal banners. She dreamed she was walking behind her mother in a space so vast, a mountain so steep, she was afraid, remembering all that would be erased. |
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Issue #29, October, 2002 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.