Parading

This is the beauty of being alone

toward the end of summer:
toward the end of summer:
toward the end of summer:
a dozen stray animals asleep on the porch
a dozen stray animals asleep on the porch
in the shade of my feet,
in the shade of my feet,
and the smell of leaves burning
and the smell of leaves burning
in another neighborhood. —James Tate
in another neighborhood.
—James Tate

atoms

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