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In the corner of our grove the newest one kept on saying oh, I, oh, I, Oh him, the guard grinned, going by, and woke you up. You went ahead. The guard went ahead. This is the room, here come the City’s dead, grave sisters, fur-trapping fathers, mothers still waiting, falling past my free hands, and my hands falling. Archangel It’s dark in here, your halo looks flat as a plate. Maybe we’re still there. Was that lightning? You look like a cat when you sleep. I’m not sleeping. You reading? I’m looking for this poem, about a cat—wait a minute— Go on. You can read to me all you want. That time it was lightning. Is it you? Rolling the green grass back? I love it when you smile like that. Is this the white dawn, Angel, in the book? It’s dawn. Look. Where are they bringing the rock back? Where are you going? 90 door in the mountain ...

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