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Weird, horrible dreams, that someone is dying, has died.

Oh, my brother died. It’s not all some sleepy daze.

That people stood around gossiping, talking about random things, which colors to paint the kitchen, etc.—but I will awaken.

Life goes on, people do stand around gossiping, talking about random things.

On the beach, his wife snaps pictures of my surviving brother balancing stones on the rocks.

Greenery on the hills overlooking the big waves rolling in.

 

 

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photographs by Marquita Foster

 

 

 

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