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Lauren Kessler
New York
rain severs the city
into halves, quarters, millionths,
the peripheral visions of
a passerby—
cigarettes nestled in
the zigzag of cobblestones
a damp brown paper bag
clinging to the neck of a bottle
summer’s soft breath
holding itself – still –
against the fishnetted legs
stepping into an off-duty taxicab
as the night is ending and the storm
is glossing the streets—
in streaks of redyellowgreen,
in halves, quarters, millionths.
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