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Francis Masat

AS IS

For my pre-dawn run,
I decide to wear your shirt.
Unnoticed, I pull it on
inside out.

I am shocked
by the smooth cold
letters of your name,
like the first time
I felt them
on your headstone.

Touched
by what holds me now,
I leave the shirt
as is.

A SCRAPING

A splash of grey soil spread
from fence to fence, a dying
tree and a patch of weeds -
I'll swear I saw a ghost rise.

Tacked up PERMITs declare:
boring machines tomorrow,
concrete pours the next.

Remember the first time
we painted and planted grass?
I'm glad the kids are gone.

We stare frozen in place.
Did we ever live here?

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