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71 The Lion That Finds You Asleep in His Dream (after Rousseau’s The Sleeping Gypsy) Under shadow of stars, lost in dust-light of moon, he pads the distance to where you should not be, where trees are too far apart to hear any sounds. He pads up hissing the song you hum before sleep. From his throat of castanets, he rattles his hunger, whiskers against your ear. Never mind river, never mind rainbow, his tail points the way he came from a mound of bones once a person asleep on sand. The moon’s still high in its arc, and you know you spilled from this lion’s heart. ...

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