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67 Contrition:midnightmessage As I turn out the last light, a beep from the laptop; I feel a need to read it. Your Thursday morning coffee friend has sent a brief note—words curt, compunctious: her grandmother’s dying, means she’ll miss the time tomorrow. “Off to Buffalo. Sorry.” Facing you in bed, I nudge your shoulder. Mmmm, thank you . . . I always want to keep appointments. Your half-awake comprehension, this graciousness at disappointment. Blessed are the ones who can love the earth they inherit. Please forgive the messenger, whose words hurt. I turn toward the dresser in the darkness, but you turn too, and put your face to my face, and wrap your arm around me into sleep. ...

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