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Two or three days of rain
have calmed us, and the wind
has let it soak in for once,
rather than blowing the earth dry;
has slouched off to brood
in the canyons east of here.
Now it’s cold and damp, the air
holding so still a spider’s
convoluted web wouldn’t tremble.
Fog rises, suffusing us
with a glow thicker than darkness,
putting blackbirds back to sleep.
We slow down in weather like this
and look inward, not really
wanting to see much.
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