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bluebottle
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bluebottle
he died on a stone pillow
his hand on the bannister
there was nothing between us
for the moment
I was the staircase and the last touch
he the debut
between touch and ghost
I heard a bluebottle in the blind
the droning was summer days
chewing the stems of lilac leaves
the fall of yellow afternoons
suns glinting
on the blue hood of our '53 dodge
and father hoisting me
to the hot fender for a photograph
sitting still
and father brushing sandflies off my back
between touch and ghost
while I heard time
everything happened at once
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