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And what will the ricochet
of my right ankle be worth
when all the scalpeled men
re-arrange the bony puzzle
from that window doubling,
now, as a mirror: the person
I was before I kicked gravity
hard in the abdomen. Laugh,
babe, that's what you told me
on the night when I asked how
I should answer to those taller
versions of yourself when they
appear between the boundaries
of what that old architect let in
when he said: Here, put it here,
yes, that's it, now we are home.
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