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          Champlain, Branbury, The Lakes At Night
          By Lyn Lifshin

          always women in the
          dark on porches talking
          as if in blackness their
          secrets would be safe.
          Cigarettes glowed like
          Indian paintbrush.
          Water slapped the
          deck. Night flowers
          full of things with wings,
          something you almost
          feel like the fingers
          of a boy moving, as if
          by accident, under
          sheer nylon and felt
          in the dark movie house
          as the chase gets louder,
          there and not there,
          something miscarried
          that maybe never was.
          The mothers whispered
          about a knife, blood.
          Then, they were laughing
          the way you sail out of
          a dark movie theater
          into wild light as if no
          thing that happened

          © Copyright 2004, Lyn Lifshin, All Rights Reserved.

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Document last modified on: 09/28/2004

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