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The photographer in the library


The photographer doesn’t look

at the librarian behind the desk

silent and tethered

until she gathers up her issued books

and turning glances and catches

a look of such lovely lamentation

lifting and opening

she gasps, stops and drops

her keys,

and for the rest of the week

doesn’t read a single one

of the books she leaves

on the narrow hallway table

but walks the streets trying to capture

the look of lamentation

wherever she can find what

momentarily seems to be its equivalent.




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