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82 Rear-ended Each day opened before me under your eyes’ brightness. Warmed, I then faced evenings with you as like-things do, protecting themselves against night’s chill: rose petals, your white sheets, our limbs folded together fiercely close— closer—until there was chance for nothing between us which shouldn’t have been there. Now, as snow surrounds my car, keeping me at your side for the duration, I think of the accident we witnessed: the old couple on an undisturbed vector before the unseen impact from behind. One passive moment’s stare ahead in ignorant bliss; the jolt into disbelief as the present overtook, spinning them— leaving even the air between them astonished at the unpredicted change. ...

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