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38 What I Wanted from the unwound, sticky hibiscus you loved so much you could cry: a hallelujah chorus, a eureka of finches, startling even to the edge of the lawn. What would we be without this velvet largess? Where would we go when we die? Even now you have halfslipped into its cup. I see you there, nodding in pollen, then remember it is not you. The flower took you, when you stalled, and closed like a throat. Now it holds you, weeping, up to me. ...

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