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Year’s End
Sand, crawling
and coming from high places
A snowy mountain has almost melted
And we bend down to listen,
hear it, really be there
Nearing December,
I lament
That sacred time
When people fail you
And finally leave your house
Dusting off
that abandoned building
Resurrecting a semblance
of something ugly,
Something personal
It is not breathed in
It is not brought back from death
Innumerable and unrelenting:
It churns on
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Truly uplifting to know there are capybaras in a little hot spring in Japan listening to Patsy Cline.
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