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55 the distance between us is the silent fingering of a flute the music which will not reach our ears in this lifetime the words which separate ten years from my brother and i the memories i have as a child of a young boy walking toward the sandstone cliffs to paint his blue hearts they are my only memory all i can say they are what i point out to you the blue hearts whose paint was not symbolic simply the only paint you could find you tell me how phoenix lies ahead how you hope the sun can heal you in twenty days you are my oldest brother who wishes he could paint the entire mountain the same shade of blue because you loved a woman a place too much you sit in silence the distance between us the words i cannot say which erode against our minds in the slow turning of a single day ...

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