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3 poems, newest first.
00Sunday, Nobody ComingThe house does its own noises:
the fridge, the pipes, the third stair.Waiting on a reader01The Third AirportThe third airport is where the language goes.
Not the first — the first is only leaving,Waiting on a reader02Sestina for a Flat I RentedI still have the key to a house with a different door.
It was not mine for more than a year.1 critique