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Redemption Nan, the poet in Rome, New York, yesterday wrote she saw the word “Confluence” in her sleep. The run of black hair down your arm, the deep-worn line across your polished shoe. “Confluence”: two rivers joining, or, the longing to return: because Jim, we parted on either side of this green island, it seems it was a hundred years ago. But now there is no inside wall: all down our bodies, from our heads to our feet, there’s only a line like light, and all around us a line like an eggshell of light. Seeing You 1. mother I was born under the mudbank and you gave me your boat. For a long time I made my home in your hand: your hand was empty, it was made of four stars, like a kite; you were afraid, afraid, afraid, afraid, I licked it from your finger-spaces 192 door in the mountain ...

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