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when a branch pulls at my sleeve like a child’s tug, or the fog, reticent & thick, lifts, & strands of it still hang like spun sugar between branches & twigs, or when a phoebe trills from the hackberry, I believe such luck is meant only for me. Does this happen to you? Do you believe at times that a moment chooses you to remember it entirely & tell about it — so that it may live again? -- Copyright 2022 Laure-Anne Bosselaar. First published in the Lily Poetry Review, Winter 2022 Laure-Anne Bosselaar's many books include These Many Rooms published by Four Way Books.