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The train slows as it nears the station,

through an underpass and back to light −


Yellow letters sprayed across a wall,

each one fenced in by a line of garish red.

I turn to my laptop screen − words

trying to chase a meaning, like pushing grit

through a sieve to find a comma of gold.

I think of the buzzard I saw earlier reading

a woodland. Its body floating on air.

On hold. Waiting for the tiniest light. 

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