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Confetti for Lois When the gates between a low wall of clouds and sunset open and I sail through them on a tramp steamer or a coal barge or inflated raft or the deck of a great cruise ship bound for the Silk Road, the route Marco Polo found as he was handed off from one suspect pilot to another and made his way by stages to the kingdom of the Great Chan, and you stand on the dock and watch the streamers I am throwing, the silly colored ribbons of words, disappear into the widening maw of dark and violent water between us, if one of the streamers reaches you or if one piece of confetti I have thrown (surely those on deck will be throwing confetti while the band plays Over the Waves) is blown shoreward by the sea breeze and settles for a moment in your hair, I will be comforted and blessed on my long journey home. 100 ...

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