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Under the Rain for Brad The lilacs, the fields are dripping like fresh canvases. Under the close gray sky, the grass takes on its deeper hues revealing yellows, and cobalt blues, the earth turns ochre. Under the rain our silences assume their own colors: my friend disabled steers his electric scooter through city streets surrounded by green. His hands grasping the bars, spill flowers. Rain washes over the roads and we are visible again. The selves we pronounce in crowded rooms are hushed as the heart strides out proclaiming its greens and ochres, its burnt orange. |
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Issue #29, October, 2002 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.