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Arrival
far too young
was I
to see
the arrival
of the night.
the coming
of the machines,
the sun first sinking
behind the smokestacks
the skyline
swallowing the clouds
yet alone
in the yawning spaces
between the powerlines
and the oaks
i can still hear
a funerary song,
those elegiac cries,
the call of a sparrow,
before it dies.
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