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| jo'b |
It's not too late.
Light from the low sun
like a sheet of honey over the fields.
A swarm of dragonflies
hunting over the yard,
after mowing, in the silence,
the rattle and glint of wings.
The feast continues.
We touch each other
to prove we are still here.
Tell me it's not too late.
—with two lines by Ocean Vuong
