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Mathias's Poems
Feathered by humid summer air,
Mathias's folded poems take wing
one hot night,
page after unread page rising
on the breeze from the window fan,
soaring off the desk
scattering in the dark
beneath the bed, beside the dresser,
behind the couch
seeking to nest
where I cannot reach them
before unfolding their songs.
August, 2001
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