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[38] LET TER TO ARRHY THMIA Dear arrhythmia, dear perennially sidestepping, asynchronous and rapid tachycardia, I’ve learned not so much to fancy up my footwork as to fake a passable improv: not even time to do my nails, check my hair or lines for an audition call—but here we are again in the molasses of a telenovela, gliding from moments of near hysteria then shimmying to the Copacobana as doors revolve like windmills in the background. . . And it’s true, then, what they say about you: how you break knees, break hearts, and then ask Will you dance? Sometimes I want to stop, just be the wallflower, enjoy the view—be the one the waiters come and tend to, their silver trays bobbing with fancy, pileated tufts of napkins. Oh but I’ve never known the ease of a downier partner: only you dealing and dealing it out; sometimes, more than I can muster. ...

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