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Here I have lilacs rescued from the hail

fresh coffee in my cup and thunder
in all its suddenness answering Coltrane’s

ascent. I know why the starlings gather
in the tops of cottonwoods at the end

of a frayed out day, why a river never
quiets in its descent from the mountains

why a field opens itself to a spilling sky—why
the dove mourns from the roof every morning.

Unknown are the hands we will hold on a new road
in a part of town we’ve never seen.