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The Passing The shimmer gone out of what we know Bells din dan dawn but we—down here—you little Lord the needle North and move the boat In the Burning Air In the burning air nothing. But on the ground, at the edge, a woman and her spoon, a wooden spoon, and her chest, the broken bowl. * She would long to dig herself into the ground, her only daughter’s ashes in her nose in her mouth her only daughter’s makeshift ashes nothing lying in the hole in her chest 36 door in the mountain ...

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