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51 Icon Who brings these messages disguised as trees or vehicles but which are in fact people I once may, or may not have known? Laurence in his Big-Apple cap, & Nancy, her peasant skirt flaring as she closes her eyes to dance; Chris, eating a plum & sweeping the back stoop in Rye; Frank Dunn, Wonder Bread white & chubby in a cloud of blue smoke, before the coffin closed on so much less of him. Time doesn’t mess with these faces, scrimshawed cameos. . . . And what will god think of next, I think when the steel side of a delivery truck throws a panel of sun in my face, then guns it around the corner. Jesus . . . I’m back in the street again, facing a tiny man made of light blinking at me, telling me Go ahead now, it’s all right to cross. ...

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