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27 Cataracts the eye casting shadows never shone so bright as light itself grew dim twilights falling like dirty gray hair on the collar of distant mountains you ask why so late in life you have come to see the moon for what it is and not light crossing the room becomes a bright rush of water full of undertows look closer: that pool beside half-seen doorways is a window carried away by a flood of white-water light what choice do you have circles clouds cobwebs on a soiled lens the desire to be close to what is so far away ...

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