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Rain before Snow
A constant fall of water drops and movie milk,
following the currents of the wind.
Illuminated against windows dark
and abandoned, but this one’s open.
I can hear it. The tapping and tipping
and whooshes and streams, or jetstreams
blowing it around in a mess.
It is anything but a mess
of a storm, un orage,
a nor’easter coming to wipe
out our race of people.
Quietly weeping outside bright
buildings, I wonder when it’ll end.
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