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Gliders

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A gnats’ ghost beneath accumulative

greys – Cessnas gargling and spitting

you into columns of rising air –


you look, down here, from this city of weeds

and wildflowers, like a mobile,

strung above a nursery of calves:


charms tin-snipped from a rainbow braceletting

the sun; symbols of hope, mirrored

by the hairstreaks escaping our feet.

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