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The Neighborhood

By L. Ward Abel

There is music from Argentina.
It plays a mismatched soundtrack
becomes form fitted
after a slow start.
The wine is good.
Out on the patio a huge grasshopper
content, tranquilized by philosophy,
the exoskeletal Buddha
is lit by yellow floodlights through bushes
they point outward and
upward to a million billion specks of stars,
the atmosphere not a factor.
There is so much clarity.

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