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There was a brilliant bright light spreading
over the water contagious as fire
but just as I went to write about it
it wasn’t there anymore. For a month
in China I lugged all my stuff over
my shoulder until I tore the muscles.
Trying now to write is unbearable.
But cicadas sing. Does the wind bring them
or my own desire for them? Here comes
the light again moving along the stems
beyond my present reach yet in the sweat
my beating heart brings in glistening drops
out of my skin. I’d forgotten. The pain
with every other care has gone away.

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