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      March 16, 2021Dear UniverseWendy Videlock

      In all this calm,
      in all this mist,
      these vague shaped
      continents
      begin to drift.
      A finger lifts,
      falls again.
      A foghorn sounds,
      passionless.
      Do you wonder
      what we are
      in all this calm,
      in all this mist.
      Wolf prints.
      Red clay.
      A slender wrist.
      Murder. Magic.
      Ballet.

      from #31 - Summer 2009

      Wendy Videlock

      “I think I am a devotee of poetry in large part because it refuses paraphrase, has little interest in good manners, and doesn’t have a dress code.”