Etch
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22 Etch Wavelessly, against Flatland: the ocean, The sun, hanging. He carved the light, though The world remains Unmoved. Wind furls Sashes of dry snow Across the road, Hoar nacres electrical Transformers. I was Cochlear, curving, bone Handed me the eardrum Of a bowhead whale— Veined and furrowed. Listening, I began To know so little. ...
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