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51 tHe reMoVe As of sky, of love which has no object— So what about the cup, hand, and mouth, the three-in-one breath of my breath, mind that takes a blank when it can, even the moment after a chalky foot turns a corner in my dream as if it were the very last glance at Eurydice herself, or the impropriety of viewing my own death’s slipper. I’m dizzy thinking—what matters, I love you I love you not. I have no name with which to meet the dark. ...

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