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Faith Electric lines are npped from trees, the blinds and bathtubs dangle, chalk blooms high into the air and dozers scrounge in the exposed rubbish of interiors. A letter's dated half a century ago to someone in the penitentiary. You got to have a faith unshakeable, she wrote. And now from morning until dusk the workers rip and roar, they pound and they resound until translucent air becomes a thick acoustic medium, breathable air a test of dust, and one whole streetful of amazing residences, intricate with human life, inscribed with human history, becomes a vacant lot. This is the nothing someone so emphatically wanted. I stood for hours at a nearby window and could see a hundred years undone; but there remains untouched a space they never made, the kind of space they could not fill. There is a sky they cannot deconstruct, a clarity that moves to its own tune. We may not hear, the sun is deafening, our lives a din of disregards, but don't let worldly meanings shake your faith: there is a moon. 79 ...

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