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--- C O R E Y   M E S L E R

Even before itís quite dark enough
Chloe comes to me with wide eyes
and anticipation.  Itís time to
catch lightning bugs, she tells me,
as if for the first time.
Together we go out into the gloaming,
the sky the tint of a frying pan,
the front porch an oasis of 
between-world calm.  Chloe hurries
down the steps and looks about her,
spinning madly.  Theyíre all
around us, she says, and I imagine
she is right.  But, for now,
from this vantage point, higher up and
further away, I see nothing.
Only the putty colored air
and Chloe, her dress a whirly, dancing.

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