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last week's respects
    to august warmth
are paid and spent

and in october's deepening chill
    boletes pop       emboldened
from beneath the backyard

meanwhile undrowning
    in an airborne lake of fog
hawthorn pomes crimson   and we

with what structures we have built
    might aspire to anchor
the webwork of orb weavers

who wait
    silent
in the autumn breeze

Steve Carll

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