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Thirteen This year you come to me in the rain, your name a sudden shock on the lips of a passing woman to her daughter, out walking in the lane. The two recede. Her daughter’s back Is sullen under black layers. The passing cloud of your impermanence drifts through and for a second I am in the dark lush of your watery air. For a second I think I feel you there, your shadow bridging the gap between us, petrichor of your shampoo, slight weight of your body next to mine, columns of you drifting across the distant valley of me.