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untitled by Tony Davino
published in Volume 5, Issue 3 on September 1st, 1998

I met Vermont with Fall
in her eyes
She'd sit behind glass and watch
the leaves, delighted
by their flip, or lazy drift
by the way the wind would be
betrayed.

She'd collect them to her
breast like spiked kerchief
reds and golds,
brighter than wonder.

By days end they'd have curled
upon themselves,
leathern and mottled.
By days end she knew: they were brilliant
only on the side toward the sun.

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