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Then There’s the Garden’s Opulent Hollowing GINA KEICHER Never saw a garden so full of itself to drop every petal at once. Some movie roads are shot to make you feel like you are walking them. Forever songs on Valley Radio wake us, alarm the peonies. The Architect in a florist’s smock says hers is a vision for a breed that makes it down an aisle in fall. It’s difficult to break some habits, to get the pearls off a string in a dream, to find the source of dampness where we do not want water. White lines on basement walls to show how high a flood rose, like a mother ticks her child’s height in pencil in a kitchen corner. I am sorry that your lonely and my lonely do not match but we can wait in the car on the next train while sun melts our foreheads. Call in to request our song. I’d say I’ll never dream again, but that sounds like a warped record trying to balance itself beneath the needle. 196


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