Outside it is drizzling, a kind of dirty
Drizzle, mixed with sleet, and still It washes the lawn and the capital But it chokes the sound of the whippoorwill. Inside, you imagine the streets are flooded, That the credit union has collapsed at last, You fall back into a dream. You are struggling out Of the sea, the light is unsurpassed, But a wall of ocean, twenty feet tall, Rises, and you slip down, Down into the trough, and you wake And set aside the eiderdown.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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October 2019
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