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Countless the Times | A Poem by Elaine Meredith

Porch light cut slant,
the venetian louvers hard
to the enameled outline,
the last sheet fluttering
in the evening, soft aspired;
counter’s dust sheen broken;
the beaded wet circle of
tumbler ice sweat at the
margins, and center recurring
to broken awakenings; one
instant the hard gained grasp
of a gnat on screen wire;
in with that one vision and,
pitiful staccato sheared wing
lifting semaphore over another,
as an unfilled shopping list, where
one item goes always missing: that
same, saved by a string run down
the hallway, stealthy vibrant, from
which neon traces will flicker white
spun cordage…unto a midnight,
temptingly waiting.

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