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Poem: No Love in That Sound 


of the refrigerator motor

in the empty apartment at night.

But a stream

beside the trail

a bright pool

past the familiar

nettle field and

the now chic wild ramps

I had never heard of

before, her hands

small mammals

that love to dig

and garlic, steeply

down to the cooling

reservoir in

the afternoon,

noticed

the droning

cicadas.

No grief

in that

sound.

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