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I
Rooms so familiar
they complete themselves in me –
this darkened hall where the glass cases,
'Oscillations', a new poem by Toby Fitch.
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The far margin of wintering wetlands,
mist before sunrise. Outside my window
a rock parrot is perched on its fence-post.
Taking note might prompt some things:
look! Even a colon finds correlation
with the eyes of Hoji’s frog, and the king’s.
The answer could only be yes. Or,
(as James would have it) it was a question,
the way she turned back to him
seemed to say, that deserved