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29 The Day I Loved You Most We had eaten salt. And it was nobody’s business that under the eucalyptus trees you kissed me searching my mouth for solace; that our silhouettes altered the lyric posture of an age; that we purged ourselves of reminiscences, of ego. I haven’t come here to describe the moment of rupture and negativity, my “O.” Tropism of apart/togetherness. What stunned me more was the rash hatching of wings in the aftermath of our departure. We turned back and saw the birth of a peacock, full-grown, but with feathers like the orchid silver of twilight, and a cry as biting as any ill-conceived being’s. It rose from the lake and left us outmoded— defunct as some1950’s portrait of a Rust Belt bride and groom. I can’t believe I still bring breadcrumbs to the aviary for you. Can’t believe we didn’t sweep the cognoscenti off their goddamned feet. ...

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