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The Downward Glance

I can’t sing to the moon

today except to say the

usual phrase: she’s

luminous, radiant–

like a celebrity shining 

into the collective lens

with a cold and 

distant eye. 

Today I drop my gaze 

to my wheezing cat, the 

aspen trees yellow and 

aching with thirst. I sing to 

my neighbor’s abandoned 

sedan sinking into the earth. 

I sing to my aching feet. 

I sing to ladybugs, to ants

I sing to dead leaves, to grit, 

to dying plants.  I keep singing

I keep singing through 

my downward glance. 

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