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47 Resonance In the MRI chamber Faceup in my drawer beneath elves hammering their bright work and the down-hard, down-hard of rocks flung into a ginny, I calculate the length of a core sample, wondering who is knocking on my door. Midway I am conveyed from within, the parsing of thought into layers, all thin cuts, my sagittal views. Once I tasted the unfortunate tang of someone else’s sweat before going back in. The walls are round like a church. Upstairs, a rocking chair is broken, a coin is tripping down a drain. More muffled than nonsound, snow melting, I am rolling out like a new year. Is this a time capsule— have they found me intact? I emerge daub-white, an aubade. ...

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