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77 Memory Is a Fire I was shopping for an end to my travails in the Eschaton Mall when suddenly I spied my second wife from the Golden Age in Lord and Taylor. I saw just then what it was I’d lost, her Eleusinian style, her beauty from a distance that was also near, right there but sovereign now in the endless aisle of millennial blouses. That bedighted. What was I so sure of as a younger man to leave her behind? That I would forget the fire that burned in us like an angel’s dress dipped in oil? That it would burn us clean like the camps I torched? What did I know about the coal inside my heart? How long it burns like anthracite on the tragic facts. How nothing’s lost inside the dark at the center of the flames. I needed to burn for a hundred years to see what I feel and feel what I see in the country I won with so much force. deNiord text-2.indd 77 11/10/10 10:40 AM ...

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