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walking at night

toward the kilbarrack

train station. and no, it's not night

but it's evening, dark and dry

and cold at 6pm. dogs in all houses

going crazy with fireworks;

they start around now

and proceed into winter.

my coat is buttoned tightly. the ground crisp

and hard as unbroken eggshells.

all orange with lightbulbs

coming out of windows. another one

goes up from someone's house.

someone's garden. it goes,

exploding overhead in blue,

and the clatter afterward,

like pigeons

breaking on a street in daylight

when you're walking

and you're walking

too close.

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