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Elegy
In memory of Mark Kirschen
the last wavering of the shapes.
lamp post, bench, dark green
bush, sentinels. bits of gravel cold
against skin. the eyes close
in on a window, a single light.
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mixed colors
blue-violet, mauve, red
formed behind closed lids.
in the hall, and stepping down,
the colors one
for which there is no name.
autumn has come, in which
it glows in the dark room.
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