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THROUGH MY WINDOW
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Through my window the world is silent, but moving
Last summer’s leaves, still held by one side of the black oak
shake and flutter against the last breath of winter
People walk purposely along, still in hats and gloves
Traffic drifts by
A man with papers in his hand crosses the street
a girl holding a cup of coffee now hurries behind
as a car approaches
Even the shadow of my building
marking a line on the building to the west
moves, brick by brick, as the planet turns.
Copyright 2015
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