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Thursday, September 5, 2013

"Fog"

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Fog

Like not quite waking up
when your lover swears
in her sleep.  Like trying
to see the Dali’d hands
of a clock without glasses. 
Misshapen sound, wet
around the edges.  Thick
guesses: brain filling in
what looms over you,
grainy and gray, with
memory or maybe
it’s hope.

Deborah Miranda

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