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67 cana For weeks the dreams called you my husband. I hadn’t the heart to correct them. Besides, dreams are often confused, anachronistic, analog to nothing. One minute, we’re the way we are.The next, as in the dream where you fell shaking and sweating into diabetic shock, everything goes to hell. (When I tried to dial an ambulance, the numbers all turned to nines and ones.) If dreams are transmitted from a place where we’ve already happened and failed, then miracle, another form of imagination, has its limits. One minute: water, the acceptance of impossibility. The next: wine, the dreams all but calling me wife or widow,the moon soft and white as a wedding mint. ...

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