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Poetry

The fall

By

“Perhaps, we live just in these / Boundless resources hedging / Us to an end no matter where / We’re standing,”

Poetry

Turn Over

By

“Perhaps he ached to refresh / his smart phone screen to see numbers creep, / a few hundred at a time, as much care as a single vote / could ever endure, in this country counted by counties.”

Poetry

The Love of Dusk

By

“My mother believes / in the holiness of tides. Till today, she reminds me to have my food / well before an eclipse begins. She knows, the sun doesn’t care and the moon / pretends to.”