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32 Travel Journal Memory of your heartbeat pulsing in my hand: all the windows open Dawn The clocks here all face East Time measured out in backward moving spoons empty as an unmade bed. Your photograph haunts the shifting room, thin substitute for absent arms. Three zeros on the door. Lifeboat for a shipwrecked heart, phone lines taut between us Only sound your voice Noon: The postcard lies face front: Glittering skyline, clear waters. The perfect day reversed: Empty words quickly tossed Good Time Lovely Don’t worry Truth a knife edge between word and image slicing skin paperthin with longing 33 “Wore your undershirt; Green apples drifted through my clothes all day then went out to a bar. The only guy who looked at me looked like you.” “I think that means Come Home” Sunset behind the mountain Golden crown on bed of coffee beans. Night. ...

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