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31 This is the myth of retrospective cohesion. My friend Mike tends to take the idea in a high-five direction. He lies on the floor, considering basketball. He wants to say, “The snow’s green out there.” He says it. The snow is white and the grass is green and the sun is shining. There’s one cloud so particular we want it to stay with us. It moves closer to Agawam. We don’t go anywhere. Now Rachel comes over and presses herself to the back of me. We decide the road looks like a nomadic leaf sculptor went walking up it and down it. That his life’s work took a day. There’s an apple in the mailbox. In my Shojutsu ink drawing, a man turns to another man who turns to another man and they do portraits of one another. This is called concatenation. This is called “Self-Portrait in a Conventional Setting.” Mike, it was like, “Time to stencil your likeness on my passenger-side window.” It was like an important outing or date might find us early to eat Thanksgiving pie. Rachel, while we were doing our good neck exercises, I took a picture of us. The area rug and apartment made a new room together. EIGHT MONKS IN UNISON ...

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