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 Ladybug I฀was฀reading฀Neruda฀late฀into฀the฀night, hoping฀to฀siphon฀off฀something฀for฀myself, when฀she฀landed฀on฀my฀open฀notebook. Not฀a฀real฀ladybug฀but฀an฀orange-spotted imposter฀who฀picked฀her฀way฀in฀a฀drunken waddle฀along฀the฀metal฀spiral,฀stopping to฀sample฀a฀trace฀of฀something฀invisible to฀me.฀She฀clambered฀inside฀the฀wire฀binding to฀scuttle฀along฀the฀ditch฀of฀wide-ruled฀paper, emerging฀at฀the฀end฀dissatisfied,฀it฀seemed. The฀small฀pretender฀then฀left฀the฀page฀to฀fly in฀loopy฀indirection฀to฀my฀open฀New฀Yorker. She฀seemed฀to฀have฀a฀taste฀for฀Galway,฀lusty insomniac฀marveling฀at฀the฀woman฀beside฀him, her฀hank฀of฀hair฀and฀the฀heat฀a฀slender฀body ovens฀up฀around฀itself.฀Understandable,฀the฀draw toward฀warmth฀in฀a฀shivery฀spring.฀Each฀year masses฀of฀fake฀ladybugs฀awaken฀to฀find a฀secret฀way฀into฀the฀old฀cottage,฀only฀to฀then die฀in฀prodigious฀numbers.฀I฀sweep฀mounds of฀their฀dead฀shells฀from฀floor฀and฀sill and฀sometimes฀take฀the฀living฀outside, though฀I฀tire฀of฀even฀that฀short฀trek.฀Time is฀short,฀and฀the฀journey฀full฀of฀cul-de-sacs  and฀dead฀ends.฀Above฀me,฀lured฀by฀the฀light฀she could฀not฀resist—listen—the฀click-click฀of฀insistent wings,฀little฀Icarus฀bumping฀against฀the฀bulb. ...

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