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58 In the Dream with Blue Snow The Audubon show flickers like a candle when winds blow on the antennae. Birds are on the screen again. It’s late. Soon the room fills with snow as local channels wave their flags. Goodnight. The television, an aquarium glass, departs into noise. Domingo snoozes. Twitching in his sleep, he sees fleets of sloops sail away, as if torn from him. These exaggerated clouds move from the harbor and bleed into one another. When they blossom into doves, he is not surprised. He hears the wing-flap: the sound a ship makes when it becomes a child in a white cloak, bathing. Domingo’s lips purse as he snores, whistling birdsong—sleep, pure sleep. ...

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