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41 two yellow leAves October has slicked the mirror-flat rivers with yellow leaves.We pull them from the current and mark time: the color of my infant skin under a bili light, a dozen July apples carried to the kitchen in your shirt, their yellow sugar slick on a serrated knife. I see the high sun snapping against sheets on the line, my hipbones pressing out and opening late one summer, the yellow outline of bone beneath skin. I see here—the 16th Street Bridge flinging skeins of yellow iron over the flood-ochredAllegheny, this morning’s diner, butter hissing on the grill, wallpaper curling.Your eye caught on an edge of light as blinding autumn flutters through the poplars’ paper-coin leaves. My leaf-shaped heart welling up through the river, yellow. ...

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