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April 2016, vol 12 no 1

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Anatoly Kudryavitsky

These Flowing Moments


The drowsy air hummed inside the sea-shells of Gothic churches, so I took her to the cinema where we watched our separate lives, and in the second part our life together. “Some day you’ll watch part three,” I said. “We will,” she responded encouragingly.

At home, my feet got surrounded by a sizeable puddle. “Don’t melt tonight, please. I am so tired . . .” she muttered, half-asleep. “Isn’t it great that we found out what causes you to thaw and you’ve got rid of your heart?”

When she fell into deep slumber, I took my heart out of my breast pocket, slid it back into my chest and lay down on the couch. My half-dissolved hand still managed to scrawl the words “End of part two” on a bibliography card, white as snow.

funeral toll –
winter fog curls
around bare trees


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