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March 2007, vol 3 no 1

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Carolyn Thomas

Spring Moon

It was early spring when I cleaned out my father's house. Swept away the past, left nothing but space.

fall of the broom handle–
cold sound bouncing
off every wall

I wandered about the yard saying farewell to what I would leave behind.

empty space
where the cherry used to be
clear sky

That was five years ago.

rising spring moon–
shore breeze rustling
my neighbor's palms