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Sarah's Waltz —-for Randall Snyder Now she is gone she is dancing, here in the kitchen, the oven cold, bare table a platform as she pounds her feet—one two three— soles rosy with henna, the old teak's oils rising to meet her to warm her as she twirls, linseed floating her as she bows, and dips, and bends to us, and now she raisesher arms. Years ago I grew her as easily as the clay pot holds the primrose. In her hands as she turns, light catches and flashes on crystalline bells she has fashioned, carries and tosses, and catches and releases into this silencetheir chime. Wherever you are, Composer, hidden behind the arras, woven into the wheathanging, icy drop swayingon its filament fracturing the moon as she pivots and whirls 33 and scatters her clamor, please capture for us Sarah's heartbeat. Sound it now. 34 ...

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