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By Taylor Hagood The first day that portends autumn's approach-- bug-wheeze fades into windblown leaf-rustle; backlit clouds stand sharp, with photonegative-edge solidity, against equally sharp azure. Road-sides are full of queen anne's lace; nearly extinct butterflies drift with scraps of paper in the breeze. Tomorrow, summer will step back into place in this slow dance, and its partner--fall--will disappear behind its broad shoulders. But today, I remember how not to steal, to lie, to murder, to chance my breath's stolid fragility. I remember that I need to grasp the season's wrinkled thumb. I remember that leaf-shadows will die away into purple threads, chilled and dumb. © Copyright 2004, Taylor Hagood, All Rights Reserved. |
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Document last modified on: 01/06/2007