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once there was no song
at least none that she could hear

it came slow at first
just a whisper
but it's louder now

he is like that music, this man
she doesn't know where it comes from
but that doesn't mean it's not there

she knows things, too, this woman
like a gypsy at a carnival
or a baseball queen in Raleigh

but she never dreamed this would be
her last gift to him
or was it his last gift to her?

either way it was moving
                   and beautiful
                             and right

still, at night her heart grows strange to itself
dreams of him still dwell in her
never to vacate

the music doesn't work then
it just gets lost
swallowed up by all that air

she wants to be all right, 
alone, late at night
she just doesn't know what all right is

all she knows is what that
disfigured, partial person tells her

no anger
just a hollow sadness

some things in life just . . . are

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