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Broome and Grand
A neon moon turns slowly
over the sign that says: EAT.
Underneath, a woman reads
in her car, the windows closed.
The streetcleaner's circling
brush
drops bottlecaps on Grand
Street.
Impossible to tell sun
from air or sidewalk from wall.
When we find a place
we might love, we stay.
David Goldstein's poems are forthcoming in Paris Review and his translations of Italian poetry have appeared in Indiana Review, Orion, and Parnassus. He is pursuing a Ph.D. at Stanford in English. He is also a co-editor of Mantis, a new journal of poetry, poetics, and translation.
In Posse:
Potentially, might be ...
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