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33 destrudo We stopped on the bridge to watch the rush of spring runoff divide around pilings, blue as a vein. Like psychic vertigo, that sense that the mind might suddenly split, and one half push the other out over the water—the body drawn down by the force of fear and unwished temptation, the railing so low, even the wind could do it. I stood in your arms, your chin on my shoulder, the sky perfectly ripe. Behind us, the red sun teetered like a car on the edge of a cliff, then dropped. I forgive you for saying you’d catch me— I would’ve said it too. ...

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