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42 I Lose You and Find You When I was young and didn’t know how to describe a man in a story, I wrote of losing him, as if absence were memory made visible. Now you are gone, you are dead. Others are rushing to fill in this noninhabitance with descriptions I find unsettling. You are being deconstructed down to letters and spaces like the original Torah to be flung out among the multitudes like pieces of bread. They seem to suggest I purposely left out those luminous parts of you though you went on smiling just the same, becoming a legend made out of such smiles. It would be foolish to seek you in their scolding embellishments. You will never be who you were because no one had the full sense of you. It is left to me to reclaim you. I ask angels to bless my hands while I gather your facets like shards from a broken vessel. I only record the stages. Reconfigured, you are become the shape I apparently loved. ...

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