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Heat kicks on at dawn —

September almost over.

Here we go again.

At six the dog barks —

either wanting to go out

or just say hello.

Meanwhile, in my dream

John McCain and I fist-bump.

“New York Times!” he says.

Crows chase each other

around the yard like children.

I should get up soon.

Am I saddest when

lonely, or happiest

alone? Or, both?

It’s just one moment

after another — a string

of pearls. With no clasp.

This morning’s motto:

waking into the person

I turned out to be.

—Donald Nitchie

Donald Nitchie occasionally leads poetry-writing workshops on the Island. The next will be focused on haiku and/or haiku-like poems, at the Edgartown library, in November.