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Elizabeth
Carmichael-Davis
poppysong
the lack of engines
the inviting rain
the comfort of solitude
the light on the camera
the dark center of a poppy’s eye
black and purple
like a mind in an envelope
red for good fortune
mailed at the new year
received in astonishment
paper unfolded
new paths recharted
their time is so short
they stand up to the wind
and wish for cotillions
hold themselves up
in front of the sunlight
so you can see through them
they broadcast the bright
inside are not hidden
their velvet black hearts
freely exposed
providing as ever
the next generation
historical center
the map of their future
a dime for a dozen
the fields running over
perfectly copied
seeds into being
color for now
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