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Part II April Suppose we are standing together a minute on the wire floor of a gaswagen: suppose we are in the dark. It’s warm and dry. We have food. We aren’t in hiding waiting, mostly we’re sitting in our own light rooms. Come over, bring things: bring milk, peanut butter, your pills, your woolens, crayons. Nuns pray. Snow. It’s dark. Pray for our friends who died last year and the year before and who will die this year. Let’s speak, as the bees do. Broken-down Girl Imagine her quick who could talk and cry, still running, under the whole sky, the youngest sister, pilgrims 87 who fumbled down in such sincere pieces. Silver pieces! The wind, the Virginia rain, touch your face now none of us at this table could, frail gleam, glass face without a back, open book, telstar. Bin Dream, West Cottage East, D-11 You or I, sweet Mag, miserable sixteen, paternal, put the kettle on, set out three white cups, and forgot, the minister edged up sideways with a certain amount of floor to cross to the silver sink the radio the fireplace and the cup, the sky inched into blue-white milk, the housemother stood up, looking at us all, not warmly, said, No one 88 door in the mountain ...

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