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Aching
a sparrow
falls with bound wing
along an alley;
next moment, missing
things will always happen
I don't understand
where, in the parallel alley,
a woman
in a mulberry tiered skirt
slips off the curb
ashes and spit sluicing off her hem
as glass shards of rain rattle
my window, I gather myself,
begin my self - gazing down
on concrete I remember
her peasant blouse
from other summers of love
I think I see
while craning my neck
down below
a sparrow
undulating like a hula girl
along a storefront
missing again
the moment she alights
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