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By Bill Lemley / April 3, 1986

Horsetail clouds sweep high enough For Pegasus. At noon a gull Sails before them, crossing a blue-white field. In a soft wind, near levitating, We gather downed twigs while light-headed Trees rock, power lines swing. My mother would have burst: ``Just breathe this air!'' Southwest, rainclouds rise Like April; we stretch and say, ``If we're going out for groceries, Better make it soon.'' Bill Lemley

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