MY SICILIAN TRUMPET TEACHER
Each time he comes to our house
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Issue: <span>July/August 2020</span>
Each time he comes to our house
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Wet feet on the sand
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Walking up stairs where Dostoevsky walked before,
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I open and close the same
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A sprout comes up, a raindrop falls,
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I made a journey from Boston to St. Petersburg
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Imagine the loneliness of a crab . . .
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On Cape Cod a leaden day
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Hope is a friend
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On a cloudy Monday morning
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