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Alan Harris reading
Meeting
by Alan Harris
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Letters to mail and a twilit beckon from the dimming sky tempted tonight my walk to the mailbox that never seems to come to me. At my first turn the fat, lop-lit moon shouldered me and whispered, "I'm here with you, never not here. Turn you to dust or turn you to ash, I will be here." I mailed my letters and walked for home. So simply it came to be-- my ageless friend and me slipping past tree and tree. |
From the book Flies on the Ceiling (1999)
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