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When she said,
this wasn’t supposed to happen to me,
a tray crashed—I heard someone laugh
(at my own failed marriage?)
I think of the sound of factories in the voice
of an old boyfriend from The Cass Corridor –
cocoon of his attic bedroom, mattress on the floor,
candle light and books in that long season of snow
see the moon lay its Templar light
even the swing-set in its cold metal
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