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	Talk to you tonight, 
	I wrote this morning, knowing 
	it would only be the afternoon 
	where you are, will be, 
	whole neighborhood still 
	wrapped in a tule fog 
	that won’t let up—so you reported 
	before supper 
	                       while I slept. 
	I almost wrote this afternoon 
	instead, taking your point 
	of view, dissolving into it— 
	but then imagined 
	you half-awake, and irked, 
	into my future/current noon 
	texting for clarification. 
															  
															
    
															  
															  
															  
                              	Copyright © 2015 by Nate Klug. Used with permission of the author.
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