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Michael McClintock
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an old photo
of my parents young and happy– of all the things I own that is the saddest out in the garden the gate's windy creak as evening comes on– easy enough to believe the dead might love that hour enough is enough– painting the old house I stop at the eaves deciding to keep them cobwebbed and beautiful I want to join in that picnic by Renoir and fix the dangling strap at the shoulder of the one whose face is lotion-pink for breakfast I'll give you bread but for the afternoon please carry the worms and let's go fishing one flash and it was gone -- a meteor, at the time of sunset, seen through honeysuckle vines following a route of many twists and turns a butterfly joins me for rest withiin the sanctuary at the edge of the windy field admiring the oak and knowing, of course, I haven't the strength or roots, or simple desire to stand so long in one place
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