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<< Letters from the Unsuspecting
Letters from the Unsuspecting

blue everywhere from the white of the tile, blue light through plate glass reflected from the buildings on that corner, in the corners of the eyes, things never searched for still don't give back the space they've taken, also something in the voice, in the precision of the tone and the careful words, certain things striking certain other things, too many things kept more precious from a distance, too many things cherished casually and remotely, everything sought after and dear or else much too easily let go, not to be mistaken for longing, precisely something else, a line of something never memorized or even deliberately recalled, something hazy and subtle, movable and adaptable, something started all over again in another place, something farther and farther, then closer and out of focus, something speaking without reliance on authority, without a beginning or an end, not either to say a middle, anyhow not even to say, anyhow not to count, things deathly quiet, found already polished, smoothed in the partial remembering

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