From the window frame
vision is great
air is pure
morning crickets' song drifts through
nights so rare
so star strewn
pulsating cosmic color
through plum black sky dome
under which
faraway voices
diluted by space
laugh and are surprised
and happy
like nightbirds just oustide
or barking dogs two hills over
where an expectant summer sun
gets up early
over which a summer moon sails late
lingering into after summer sunrise.

- Pamela Patrick
 

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