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By ALLIE BEENE, March 21, 2022

there is a magnificent speck, a dot

of dust or grime smeared behind the fog

coating my cork-stoppered test-tube of a soul.

I’m nearsighted – I can

only make it out with my glasses on

(while also squinting, of course).

he speaks to me of

doubt, consequence, inevitability.

sometimes, I listen.

tonight, he taps my shoulder:

“you’ll miss their smile

someday. for now,

tell them thank you.”

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