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setina irrorella

sat next to a charming but very definitely out of tune piano, one i’ve not played since childhood, and clutching a cup of coffee, i watch through the rattling windows dawn spill its lambent light, steeping sleeping seaside hills, bluish suffusion sweeping over this coastal town, and all of its fishing boats, georgian villas, people in plastic overalls already hunting periwinkles, by the churning water. now the climbing sun is stealing the longest lingering shadows from the little garden, where dew moths, setina irrorella, hang from blades of grass, where the daisies are all closed up, petal tips touched blush, and yellow irises circle the pond. heart pulled from the seabed, suddenly into flowers.

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