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By Amy Fanning
Trees that stood straight up and down,
narrow, leafless, white bark fading into
light of the late afternoon sun,
creating a permeable mirage
of shadow and brilliance,
a blur of motionlessness
through which you came rushing
forth, both of you, towards me,
your faces lit with smiles.
The spokes of your bicycles
whirred with metallic resonance
against the backdrop of that brilliance,
your smiles frozen while all else passed.
Tires padded cool earth beaten
into a path of no resistance
glide softly into evening,
while your swift laughter
echoed permanently into
© Copyright 2004, Amy Fanning, All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 1997, 2019, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 02/08/2004