Cambria, Late Spring
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33 Cambria, Late Spring The last time you were beside me it was April. I knew it was over but my body was equivocal. My body was a boat for your staggering; my heart, a stone. Guilt moved through me like a sharp red rope. Then the dream of the cypress splitting in two. Then the trembling sonata moving through the promise of minor to major then changing again from the son to the man. Then a vision of the future without your hands. When the act was over I heard you call out like a sparrow in the cold dawn to know the enemy. ...


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