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I told her in case she was dying.

I told here in case she was dying, "I will always be talking to you; you can come to me; I won't be afraid." When I think of the ones I hate, I see how it goes. I need them to stay put in their bones which can be placed, from which they cannot find me. Stay away, in the world, in time. I know in their lives they will unleash no spirit. As I feared her leaving. I felt a way open. Worry and approval will not obstruct us then, only sadness, her soft blue-white body at once vanished and beneath my skin, a blessing of her weakness, my left leg tingling before I jostle it awake.
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Title Annotation:untitled poem
Author:Clary, Killarney
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Date:Jul 1, 1993
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