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To Booklegger

The next day the poem unwrote itself.
The filled-in blanks emptied themselves.
Back on the shelves, books.
Cobblestones clattered in the mason’s brain

and the rain never came back.
Sand stops somewhere, but always meets rock.
Draining the foam from her beer,
she let go of endings.

Flames would flicker from earth,
this moment of chimera, witnessed.
Don’t go looking for blue lagoons:
hot soup, warm bread, water.

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Zev Levinson

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