Intimations

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A dead-end street.
Ragged yellow afternoon light,
the rain just ended.
Power lines gleam the hidden length.
The windows of the frame houses
flash shards of sky.

A boy walks down the sidewalk.
Even from this distance
I can hear his steps.
Every so often
he kicks a stone,
looks at his face in a puddle.

A dead-end street
spanning before him.

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