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73 Night fromAbove Madison, WI On the other side of winter, my sister is the endless knot of scarves drawn and drawn from a sleeve, believing hers is the trick of voluminousness. I am in flight, circling an unsprawled city. Light’s tight multiplication on the corseted isthmus. Black lakes inching in. All night, far from here, she is wakeful, unfed; she is spit-thinned thread passing through the eye of a needle, the stitch darting cloth.Taking in and in. I too have wished to be dazzling. I have wished my skin to hold an astonishing density of light. Bright city, model city, capacious as a sleeve, how can you be boundless and also bounded? Sister, no slighter body can make you more miraculous. ...

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