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LOST LETTER III You no longer remember my voice, so I call on New Year’s Day. La Loteria is stacked red on your end table, beneath the unlit lamp. Sharp light from the window reaches into your eyes as you lift the receiver. You are surprised to hear my voice out of nowhere. If you flipped the top card over, you would find an umbrella, then a moon, a cactus, a whale breaching the sea. The Chinese symbol over your bed reads poem. I want to tell you how I’ve been, but instead, a lemon. Instead, a drum—its thick skin struck over and over. Instead, a bell, a fiddle, a lobster, a drunkard blurring through the frozen streets. Instead, a horse, a train speeding terribly away. If you believe this is our fate, then put our fate down like a rabid dog, I try to say, but instead, the earth’s elliptical orbit, the lustrous plumage of crows.  ...

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