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49 LISTENING TO ARVO PÄRT’S FÜR ALINA For Joe Grady, shot dead by Brent Brown, Hungry Horse, Montana, 1997 In the music it is winter, And you have walked far, The heels of your hand-me-down boots Taped up, hands raw and calloused by lumber. In the music it’s winter, Chill of the breathed-in air— I look for polestar but see Only lives: you trying to close The red flower blooming from your chest, Shamed by my implication. Music, winter, the whites and bitumens Of winter. You stand near me now And do not look away— The yellow buck-teeth, dark hair cut In a slant above your eyes, The powder-burns, the small hole I need not touch to know— We are here now, within the music Within winter, you Who called for me And I who chose not to save you. ...

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