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18 lATe WinTer rAin To begin (writing, living) we must have death. —hélène CiXouS For S_____ Muffled late winter rain licks my study windows while I meditate you come a ghost a guest plant yourself near my left eye look at me bemusedly sit across the small table at Main Street the way you used to and order a vodka I’m happy to see you you reach over and lay your hand on mine liver-spotted loose-skinned hand direct lapis lazuli stare Honey, you say in your old whiskey and cigarette voice you had the good fortune to retain when you stopped smoking and being a drunk don’t worry about a thing being dead is okay, then you melt into the rain ...

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