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Private Property on the banks of Lake Erie

I could have been watching
the sky shrivel dawn widening
a thick dark lake.

Skin below skin around
time thickening as private property
dropped off into some purer oblivious

ending through which the ground
could or couldn’t be seen.
I could have been helpless, lessening,

only barely a filter for low winds
or niche above upending.
But I was poring over lapse.

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Posted by Lewis LaCook at 5:30 am | Postmodern Poetry | Permalink

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