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ISSUE:  Autumn 1984

I thought all of them were important, every one,
though what I meant was that I was important,
my feelings for them, my feelings.
Over a period of years they have emerged
from the cloud of passion and anguish.
I have begun to see their faces,
especially their eyes, with touching clarity.
And I see they were persons all along, like myself,
not images of my intense need.
Now I come to myself smiling, shaking my head.
Or walking through the rooms of my house I stop
and turn slowly.
I start to say something, but no one is there.


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