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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 54

The golden light

And I love the golden light
before it fades into night
off the Hudson, on the Pier

And the wind is picking up,
dancing through the brushes
growing on the High Line,
it’s too cold to stay out here.

Still I wait for you there,
outside the glass walls of the Whitney,
maybe by Spring
I’ll make it back here again.

  Carrie Magness Radna