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by Dawnell Harrison

I was driving into the wind,
Into the last piece of America

As my hair cascaded
Around my shoulders

Like a hidden waterfall
In the mountains.

Around every corner
Was a mirage on the flat road

That crept up on me
Like a child with a secret.

My dog’s ears were
Flapping in the air

As her tongue hung out
Like a dangling participle.

Copyright © 2011 by Dawnell Harrison

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