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                                    Terry L. Kennedy

All afternoon the rain fell on the river like tic’d tin in summer,
like rice at a wedding—that slowly, that fleeting—
and somewhere the thunder grumbled, and somewhere
the sun shone indifferently—hours later, I floated out
on the night sky, its cut & polished depth barely visible
through the haphazard seam I ripped down the middle,
and then—nothing.

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