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—14 Experiment V —For Kate Bush Somewhere a door to day is opening, and she steps through it into morning fog. Here is an end to every dream, a room the climbing ivy builds where green waxes and wanes and stains the skin. (I thought that I might die, but not this time.) Half the perfect world is here, although in need of some repair. One cloud looks like a smudged, torn map with all the destinations blotted out, one cloud looks like an open hand dispensing storms. This cloud says No. Two steps from the water, three steps from the shore, we throw our voices into the muddy stream, drowned out by past currents, current floods. Her hands are filled with snags, night-scented stock, and wishes gathered by the reedy river, the greedy river that steals all song. Night renders everything insensible, her eyes are filled with feathers, filled with burning bridges, burning cornfields wuthering to wind-blown ghosts of smoke. We take one last look at what we’ve lost and follow her into flight, with all the wings around us. shepherd text-2.indd 14 11/22/10 2:07 PM ...

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