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This eve closes in muggy and slow
leaving mud banks of mangroves dry
as the tides rises and falls but barely
in the windless merciless night
the marching clouds still
over vast violet sky
littered as though thoughtlessly
with millions upon countless twinkles
of stars and galaxies wide
yet not a revere is found
not from the scorching sky
where in the day the air grew thick
warm and unbearable
and all one would wish
in the delirium of it all
the bite of winter chill.