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Homeward Commute

Evening on the ancient trail
where jet trails raked the night

crosswise, over dark ponds—
where darkness holds a full moon

like the only whole note
in a bleak and worrisome score.

Some thin clouds are softly illumined
as taillights race up an incline:

in this way powerlines can
blacken their dark captive.  Bound

amidst the intrusion—an obsequious bustle
—what lingers; what still grazes there?

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