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Poetry #273
(published April 6, 2006)
The Axolotls
by Alison Eastley
I didn't know Goldy
was an axolotls until you sent me embryonic
explanations dealing with degrees
of temperature for water
in aquariums
and walking on the land
that used to be a Mexican lake and is now
called a chance
we'll wake in a hotel bed we remember
the same way familiarity
fingers warmth into our cold hands.

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