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| If you’ve come to say goodbye, he says, don’t |
| bother with stories or silly songs about what life |
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| was like before this happened. It’s not our first crisis. |
| Instead remind us of things we don’t yet know, |
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| like how to make the man who lost the man he |
| loves stop beating his head against the wall, |
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| wishing that the winter flakes would somehow |
| stack themselves upon each other and drown him |
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| when he wasn’t looking. Tell him not to think |
| of the towers as two lovers holding hands in the summer sky. |
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| In August New York was the oyster |
| in their hands. New York was the sky |
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| that stretched overhead like a crown, like a snow |
| dome that held them from east to west. |
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| In August there was no such thing as September. |
| In September there was no such thing. |
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