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Collect Enough Fragments, You've Got Yourself a Poem


by Bill Yarrow


I.

The sun's corona. Empty boxes
near the firehouse.

Red birth.
A bird's lost wing. 

II.

The bitterness of littleness. 
Apples in a pile.

Early love.
A spider, swinging. 

III. 

A father's harshness.
Twelve bills unpaid. 

Leaves in a crevice.
A dream unwrapped.


IV.

The future.
Its dizziness. 

Christmas cookies.
A dollhouse all alone.


 

 

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