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Slumbering, a summary is not a dream.
A word goes by, flying, not at all
overburdened or serious, and you,
at a loss, let it go pretending not to notice.
Or turn on a heel. It comes over you.
A burning candle and a miraculous sea.
The long procession of your things.
What would it have been like
to have been set forth in consonance
with oblivion? To have been austere
Isaac, melting back into what remains.
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