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EARLY HOUR

The light this hour
So little holds the sky,
enters our room—enough
for love’s secret toil

and aftermath, things
small as this light, overwhelmed
by a world it wakens. See
the moon’s nimble

crescent
gleaming over the treetops,
frog on each trunk climbing
through saffron to bed.

A single bird voices
the last dim clarity
before rising mists
untenure our dreams.

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