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25 N OT F I N D I N G S O M E T H I N G I have always wanted to find a match for her silver earring, whose shape is a whorl of a leaf, that just fits the form of the lobe of her ear, although she lost it years before we ever met, as if in doing so I could resolve the negotiation of our renewal of bliss. I know I may never find a match for it when I step out tonight in November rain to shine the flashlight on the old raccoon in his wizened fur, who doesn’t lift the black mask of his head, how he muddles about in the fallen leaves. ...

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