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It is a warm winter mid-afternoon. We must understand what happened is happening. The colossus stands before us with its signature pre-emptivity. It glints. It illustrates. At my feet the shadow of the winter-dead bushes wave their windburnt stalks. Their leaves cast gem-cut ex- foliations on the patio-stone—bushfulls of shadow blossoming—& different-sized heads—& in them leaves, flowers, shoots, burgeonings— though when I look up again from their grey chop & slip what is this winterdead bush to me. This is how something happens but what. Inside, the toddlers bend over and tap. They cannot yet walk or talk. They sit on the floor one in the high chair. They wait. They tap but make no sound. The screen they peer down into waiting is too slow. The trick won’t ever happen fast enough. They are waiting for their faces to dissolve, to be replaced by the quick game. If you

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