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Mark Fleury 2017 poetry book
the Eight Wheeled
Doorway of
Serpent’s Head
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No Sunlight
Mark Fleury
No sunlight
Means the day’s smoking gun
Makes the clouds complicit in
The sky’s crime of having no boundaries.
Weather, beginning where you find it
Changing, is always clear,
And the lake reflects the storm’s
Slow explosion of black, gray,
And white petals.
Some’ll scatter with crystal clear
Beads of water
On their sidewalked wings,
Part of the storm wind’s
Pattern now in the after-sun’s skeleton.
It’s easy to see the direction
Of the bones’ innermost
Chambers; the tide has pulled
The splashing moon’s white glow,
Flowing down
The fold that starts
Where its setting touches
The water’s nerves.
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