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"Bags"

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The fog rested on the damp street
Like it was a cloud resting,
Tired from watching us and tired from listening
To the conversations it can't remember

It floats off the asphalt
Rising awake like the sun
It crashes into a tree
It falls with a splash of November mud
And cracks, its chick inside breaks out,
The clouds crack and crackle

And all that comes out are the
Leaves of dead trees





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