Dusk
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The whole prairie was like the bush that burned with fire and was not consumed. That was the best of the day—the coming of dusk.
―Willa Cather
~
The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed. Our shouts echoed in the silent street. Dusk had come.
―James Joyce
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Poem: Shooting Baskets at Dusk
Poem: Beorhtgar to the Dusk-Woman of the Sea-Caves
Poem: The signals come in from the dark
Poem: At a Days Inn in Barstow, California
Poem: The Discount Mega Mall (in memoriam)
Poem: Meditation in the Open-Air Garage