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October 2018, vol 14 no 3

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Pablo Cuzco

The Sky Closes

The sky opens. Afternoon | the sound of footsteps on sidewalk | chalk and limestone. The soft samba of children paying tribute to the World Cup. A warm breeze | fragrant pastel on stucco. Weathered wood, flaking paint.

Anthony Bourdain is dead | murdered by a thoughtless celebrity – himself. Reminder: smile at iPhone | send selfie to Instagram. Or, die a slow death | mourning.

The sweet smell of gardenias stokes the night. A gut string guitar plays tango. Castañuelas and Cuban boots. Hand claps | Arabesque in 4/4 time. It has gotten dark. The sky closes.

scented night
as long as the sun doesn't rise
I'll be fine