--Mark Irwin 
A shark swims into the bay, swirls, and then rises with the ugly grin of millenia. 
A match flame to a cigar, years later a campfire, and long after a house on fire. 
Love-to forget language and act on instinct, its indestructible form. 
—Something written on a piece of paper after an astonishing event. That paper found a long time later. 
I am, I am, she said, licking a grape Popsicle in July. Make it last, he said right after. 
It seemed as though she had leapt toward her own cremation. 
A few books shining like the wood of trees. — Ones that I’ve climbed or held.

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