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A hospital nurse died alone in this housea century ago.She smoked cigarettes on the staircase,stained carpet with ash. I assume she misses admiring amberstreetlights out the windows,the gatherings of gnats around glass bulbs,the miniscule buzzing: a prayer on the verge of epiphany. All night I wonderif I’m gentle enough to the fallen leaves I’ve stepped on.I scratch at scabs on
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