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Of All Things

by Allan Peterson

Of all things water needs least, is proof
yet here is a morning grey as if awakened in masonry
my once vivid dreams now piled aside rusting
buttes and mesas the picturesque textbooks of waterwear
as when in my writing paper covers rock
There is a dog deep in the yard with its heart still in it
and yesterday the sun showed us its human side
its spotted afflictions
I can’t tell anyone how to grieve for these things
I am standing here silently with my relative, humidity

Posted in Poetry

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