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Slipping through Narrow Places 

Wild, curly haired kids still chase candy-colored rocks
Across old sea floors, dotted with dandelions,
And the long yawn of summer gone stale,
All gathered up, into that rusty pail.


After swings in trees,
and secret swimming holes,
down long, easy roads,
And soothing us with walermelon dreams,
And holding hands, head in circles, and catching the sky,
Her eyes, sparkling stars of night and oceans blue,
With ice cream cones and a first kiss, too.


Now, sun in smoke, searing
Cicadas singing,
That long dusty road of angst and doom
All dried and sharp,
This time just won't run out of room.


Bring us giddy hopes of weather and water,
and grand tales on the coming of storms,
Let times soon turn, and days delite
Those same stories,
Sparkling in that honey-colored light.

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Sam A. Flanagan

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