How long all this will go on, the circulating blood—hauling, having its way with us, around us, skin-deep presence and us oblivious, blood that stays where it should until it doesn’t— how long its warming, halting, stock-taking, unremitting run between some bloodlike-before and, after, what then, how should we know, being ourselves only minor players, a bit part— where we are, when we are in the story of blood—we’ve no idea.
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