Day 1: Negation Poem

March was not
florid or lush, not
overgrown or
dazzling. March
did not cross state lines
or even many traffic
circles, gazing out at
buckling hills.
March didn’t hear the
night amplified, almost
deafening
with cicada buzz, or stomp
on any seamy crawlers
near the floorboards.
It did not circle the
neighborhood,
hands clasped in praise.

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