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How Hard Is It to Write a Love Song? Last night a sparrow flew into my house, crashed against the skylight and died: I want to write a love song. Poppy seed cake on china plate, tea like auburn gold, the New York Times open on the table, black with news, and the man I still love with me. The newspaper says in Conakry a man is sticking his Kalashnikov into a woman. Now he’s pulling the trigger. Hummingbirds zip through the garden. My lover slowly rocks in the hammock, a spy novel on his stomach. I flip a page and a Nigerian soldier shoots a man because he’s parked badly, and takes the dead man’s hat. The bougainvillea has burst into pinks and reds, the colors of Kabul’s sidewalks after a suicide attack. The child next door squeals with laughter. How hard is it to write a love song? A little in-the-moment swim, a bit of Bach—perhaps. 51 ...

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