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Hoppin'

July 2012

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Hoppin'

One day past the equinox,
second day of fall,
midday still holds
summer's heat, the air
woven almost solid by
threads of heat, tied
to the sun

And each day the threads fray,
thinning at morning and evening,
easily cut, if temporarily,
by a patch of shade, a strong breeze

And each of these days
seems more precious, held in the palms
of the river valley, fleeting,
like the first snowflake
or the last firefly.
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