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Moving fast, the eye
works it out that
they're a couple, he
reaches out to
touch her cheek, no,
to take her cellphone.


From down the block
hard to tell a
spill of trash from
a sleeping man
until the eye,
the quick, patient
eye sorts it out,
sorts it all out,
the parts, the fit.


In streetlight the huge,
deep-veined, heart-shaped
leaves of the caladiums are
ears, butterflies, ghosts.

Michael O'Brien

To the River
Flood Editions

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