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Lorri Lambert-Smith | Night NotesTonight there is no moon; where it should be,
there is nothing. I make no connection between
its absence and yours.
The new moon is a wisp of light at the edge
of a disk of darkness. It does not bring to mind
the light at the edge of your dark iris.
The warm wind rising at nightfall does not recall
your breath, your hands, even when it breathes
in my ear and lifts up my dress.
Lit by the half moon, the cloud, a swirl of white
in the black sky, looks nothing like
the white curls in your black beard.
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