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SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 2013: POETRY by Marci Rae Johnson —for Thom Caraway When you came up out of your office into the customary light you heard it. In the gap between the two buildings you heard it bounce one to the other. You on one side with your red ball cap the priest on the other wearing purple the veil of light cloud 57 degrees and high humidity. You heard it and the air lifted just a slender wing flap of skin…