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Update From DazzleLand

In my heart I’ve stolen away to a patch of clover green where the homes are made of stone the color of my daughter’s eyes, my warmcold girl, growing outgrowing outgoing. I’m going out, she will say, in just a few years’ time. 
And maybe then I will steal away to this secret Irish garden that I’ve built here in my heart, the place I went when we appointed a hot air balloon as emperor and I floated away on the backdraft to the place down past Corcomroe Abbey, the ruins of the stone cathedral where a firework of crows alighted through the open roof, where I still stood on terra firma, before all the clocks had melted and people were actually having to argue that their lives mattered.
I married an immigrant, melted my time into his and we made a family of ticking hearts. I carry them within the wonky clock of my own heart that keeps time with colors instead of numbers. My clock names the hours crimson and clementine and cerulean--Oh, for years I’ve been ruled by cerulean and yes, by the sil…

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