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The Lizards in Orlando

It's strange the many worlds around me.

From my porch, I hear the hurry of mosquitoes,

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cicadas chatting with neighbors

on the next limb. Two wrens argue

about their unkempt nest. So loud, they fool me

into believing there's nothing more.

But in the grass, a world of lizards run.

What seem like dried leaves are sometimes lizards

playing tag. Their mango-colored tails

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against poppy-blue stones are clues I miss.

I walk right by - they could kiss the thread

in my shoes. Every now and then, we bump,

one skits across my toes. And I always shriek,

startled that I didn't see all who walk beside me.