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120 February Triptych with winter there are wounds impossible to heal yet everything sings backwards and blooming palmetto and pine as if grown from one root the same green branches tossing outside ten curtainless windows of this seven cornered room so many walls smoke white like scattered clouds and the same colored shelves with books and sunlight but no explanation for this loss only words moving across pages like loud geese confused in the winter winds suddenly crisscrossing the late afternoon sky ...

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