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The Absence
When twilight was purple
and somehow more clear than the day—
little shadows
swooped from beyond the clouds,
like paper airplanes
gliding to the water.
Black lines, curved and graceful
rode the summer breeze—
a slippery slide.
That was when I was young—
and the fields behind the house
were vast, magic, and full of life.
I didn’t know then,
that my house was at the edge
of the unclaimed desert—
the desert, today, conquered.
Now when I look up at the night sky,
I do not see the stars.
In the evening,
there are no longer bats.
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