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Dragonfly
The mountain I didn't climb.
Grilled cheese sandwiches fried in oil.
Loop of swallow. 
Sun on my black hair as I walk uphill
out of breath, cursing.
Binoculars on the table.
Stuffed terrier in a basket, no eyes.
Empty organic red wine bottle
under a fit of stars.
Conversation with housemates about failed Mormons
and forgiveness and poets in Nicaragua.
Wooden box full of straw hats in corner.
Panic.

White butterfly circling a dead tomato plant on the balcony.
Two cardboard coasters that say Berg-Brauerei-Zellerfeld.
Money tree shifting, leaning to the left.
Cable car, crammed with tourists, climbing up peak.
Dry legs.
Desire to swim.
My mother administering anesthesia
to a patient in a hospital
somewhere in Apple Valley.
Ten-pointed crystal hanging on wire
sending fissures of light across my arms.
Dragonfly knocking against a window.