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A page torn from a book
has fallen on the street.

She doesn’t stop
to discover which page, which book.

That upright piano abandoned
on the tree lawn a week ago
gets stripped of its parts
piece by piece, day by day.

She imagines all the black keys pried off,
dumped in a box a block away.

Sharps and flats slam against cardboard
desperate to escape.

Someone left an absolute beginner
guitar propped against a stonewall.

She doesn’t stop to check the model or make.
She just doesn’t stop.

The sun crashes
so suddenly this time of year.

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