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Monday, September 12, 2011

Nine One Twelve


What know you, September moon, whom some call Harvest?
If tonight you stare, with naked curiosity, through this clear evening's dark lens,
You'll see too much. Tomorrow, you'll begin that long, slow blink;
A protective reflex, cyclic therapy. One night soon your sleep will come,
Sweet surcease under quiet stars. Hide your eyes all you want, Diana;
Here we teem, live, love, wreck, build, -- and stare back. Do you dream
Of us?


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