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                                now let’s see
                those same leaves on the palm frond waving
                alternately like flippy fingers, same as this morning
                                have stopped

                                yes, and the
                light blue rough stucco wall dividing our terrace
                120 from 121 is lined cream coffee by the sun
                                twenty five
                                to nine and

                                the curtain
                by the open door hangs slightly billowing
                like the morning of the first dress of the summer
                                the day
                                I read

                that Jean Miller kissed Salinger in the taxi
                and continued after the sun dipped below the





blue & clouds wormhole: cloud
breeze & leaves wormhole: no hat
coffee wormhole: we’re born // to die
curtains wormhole: achieving good-enough living
doors wormhole: the Buddha head in an antique shop
evening wormhole: deeper
horizon wormhole: Batman#175
morning & sun & time wormhole: corroboration
open wormhole: oh-pen too
reading wormhole: letters to Mum V – carrying on in duty and love
talking to myself wormhole: extrapolates
writing wormhole: sunny morning