Moranda Bromberg

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I could feel the day offering itself to me, and I wanted nothing more than to be in the moment—but which moment? Not that one, or that one, or that one, or any of those that were scuttling by seemed perfectly right for me. Plus, I was too knotted up with questions about the past and his tall, evasive sister, the future.
The Trouble With Poetry and Other Poems
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