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Past Presence You lie in customary oblivion until, in its cloak ofwind-flawed rain, outside the window one midnight steps apart, a stride awayfrom its shrouded sibling hours, alone and dim, to recall an ancient pain and bemoan your past with all its brooding powers denied. And now within your ravaged heart there glide time-eaten phantoms with cold eyes of stone. —Fred Chappell 107 ...

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