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Late night, early October 

 

The leaves had started to turn

soft yellows and oranges 

they shimmered when I saw them 

out the back window of the row house

lit up by porch light, golden 
swaying in the breeze 

 

as she swayed as well,

dancing to her scratchy Samba records 

holding, but not spilling a glass of wine 

 

eyes closed

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