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Poem: Eventide 

O, to kiss this late summer
last-of-the-peaches sunlight
as I kissed you, slow
lingering, this exact now

shatters the river's tea-stained brown
—an alchemist's dream: water
into gold—puddles of it
shiver then fade. O, don't go. Tomorrow
will be a different song.

Speaking of Poetry, Eventide

  • A poem by Ruth Dinerman

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