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Beyond Blue
by Tim Peeler

I listen for the motion
of return in the evening.
The sky, a hushed hidden
gray, slips over starlight.

It is the way we do business,
sublimation and cold thrust, the
way blame takes the arrow, the
way the cornfield sings to the crow.

Whole people disappear while
the cat hunts mice at the edge of the yard,
slow dancing with shadows in moonlight,
beyond blue.

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