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New Girl


by Gary Percesepe


Was I in Harlem last night at a speakeasy

listening to an alto sax tuned like

a train whistle?

 

Was there someone beside

me, lovely and warm

with a knitted cap

 

and vintage dress?

Did we walk out together

into the cold night

 

forgetting something?

This morning new

snow falls, slant &

 

furious, and I want to

walk out into it. Do our

days & nights erase

 

each other to make

 room for the next

incomprehensible thing?

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