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| 78 Balata It was peaceful and I wanted to be lost in a holy town, but the wars were dying down, casualty lists posted on the other side of Mars, the earth beyond saving because the soil sprouted blue and orange veins that gave life to what I couldn’t reach. I found a beautiful river in one daydream where my dead nephew did not go to war and I was an old man who knew nothing, my chalkboard filled with equations the ants carried across the soil, a line of them climbing through the vapor of a god that took what he wanted as those who nodded off in my daydream woke up and saved me. ...

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