the last grey sky
hid within it
Chinese lanterns
burning in the rain
cast up from
villages hidden
among green wet mountains,
barely visible between
phone line power line
thick clouds steaming heat
power line phone line
flickering figures
with what words to say,
I could not know,
gone among now
the mining towns, golden waterfalls
sheets of sky, gone wishes
molten air, thousand miles
receding--
an empty mirror;
the afternoon.
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