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23 June Air all summer I wanted to hold tight To what I felt was the truth— a penurious thing. all I had was our breath, an unsteady pulsing With holes enough For a swallow to fly through. I remember one in our room Hovering by the portrait of someone else’s ancestors, a girl skirts askew, eyes half shut, Seated on a tricycle. Behind her, hands cradling her shoulders, a boy bruised by paint. The bird swam by the gilt ceiling Then startled, dashed itself against the window frame. after the beating wings were done Hills clarified in darkness. Bits of light fell from the sky. We watched not knowing what it all was, The air hurting us into happiness We never really thought was possible. ...

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