Abstract
from the foliage, spangling my bare arms and overalls. In Great Meadows once, I was encased at dusk in mayflies. Tiny life, wings perfectly diaphanous, alive merely a day and a night. It seemed a tease, much like you, this blueprint without mouth parts, digestive tract, a fillip of what I've known of pleasure, and proof enough of neither justice nor mercy nor any other mythy thing I've ever wanted proof of. Even something loathsome as pity. As though I'd learned an intimate and terrible fact about a dear friend, life
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