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3 September You Become Me You shawl me like smoke. My hands shake, I go down out the door hoping no one will talk to me, ask me something like my name. I can feel your hunger, your question a bell plundered of its tongue. Of course you can have my coffee, can walk with me down the street to buy the Times. I imagine you in parts and snag on trash because this other, this blinding fire and swim bladder sloshing with rain—well, I have trouble walking and counting out change. You are still so present, I know we share a mad passion for this autumn, this light unburdened life. See how my hands float before me. Since you went the light is so clear it has become everything. Faces peel from the bricks. And outside the impoverished city hospital someone has planted an Easter lily. Its trumpet erupts from green tongues. White throat that is your life. ...

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