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By Maeve Kinkead

The world buzzed out slowly.

A first it was comfortable.

Dreams at night warmed me in their arms.

The sun in the morning lit the rug brightly

So that it invited me far into its own country.

Such peace

Until in the dry blue sky jet planes

Cruised like barracuda.

Until like a cat I unwound.

Relaxed, I drew a film over my eyes.

In bed always thinking

There is nothing more beautiful

Than the desert.

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