Things that Happen Only Once
Light reaching through the redwoods and touching, as I walk with my hand in my mother's, one fern.
Golden poppy fire. The poppies. Poppies.
Nows & thens.
As I round a curve on the way home, greeting me the greenest brow of a hill.
Bodies.
The girl in yellow on 53rd and Lexington.
A heron's stare.
Dying.
A . .
. . Z
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