I'm writing with students in a glass gazebo-cafe.
Four stainless steel fans overhead turn slowly like denatured propellers.
Pens sprout from the students' hands, which bunch into loose fists to spar with cursive.
An aimless cafe-song leaks from a speaker. The students get serious, leaning into writing, silently reading lines they've laid out so far, shaping this thing on a page called a poem.
One of the students sips from a green straw that descends into iced red tea.
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