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66 An Ornate Encounter In my guerilla youth, I worked as a nurse— washing the angry bodies of the newly born one day, combing the long, almost ephemeral hair of the not-yet dead the next. What is the present? A Chinese opera, billowing with red-gold silk. A stage where all things are born simultaneously and simultaneously bathed with history and future. The place I walked earlier. (Once again, Faustino, I’m dancing with you to the anachronisms of fandango.) I don’t know whether anything progresses. But it’s here, our baroque moment, gathering panache inside this ocean, this plaza, this crevice in the sky’s pale-blue acoustical shell, librettos and chrysanthemums and eternity’s slowopening . ...

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