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81 Emptiness The waters ease beneath my door. The calls of the katydids are on the wind. Tomorrow I will be no more. Tomorrow the leaves will not follow the whims of the breezes. Tomorrow my throat will not open with the vowels of old words, nor will there be new words forming in the foundations of my skin. Tomorrow a darkness that has been called light shall find my coiled thought in the recesses of its lair. Tomorrow you who have beheld my face as I have beheld yours will no longer touch my lips in greeting, and the eyes which have known the sweet sprawl of your limbs on the sheet will disappear like raindrops into the earth. This page intentionally left blank. ...

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