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90 It Had to End We aren’t given heaven just to keep it. We get the sand passing through our fingers and even as it goes, the mind trying to keep up, to remember its quick glintings and purr of an inner ocean. A child digging basins in the beach thinks, We are all just sand shaken in a hand everyone whispering, Listen. Her mother looking up into sun— We loved full and momentarily, a cupped flame fed by what we could not be. ...

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