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92 Passing Following the ribbon of red taillights, a stream of white ones coming at my left, on the drive to touch the only woman I’ve wanted to marry. The doe leaps from my right to left. Despite black ice, I brake in time. Headlights highlight her taught muscles tapering to thin sticks. She bounds into the other lane, and I pass the space where she was last whole. Then, I’m in a warm home, my love’s face a tangible prayer in my hands. Her eyes are beige, and I close my own before kissing. I put everything into that kiss: I want this to work. In the darkness I see what I missed driving, but heard after passing: someone else’s brakes barking and the busting of solid things the naive assume will last. ...

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