for Susan It’s the voice that putsme to sleep,something like a waltz,the dancing to the end of love,Leonard Cohen’s hoarse slowtempo moving through the heartlike streets without names.At night I stumbleinto other people’s dreams.I could simply leavethrough the keyholebut there is foodon the table,a woman combingher hair who looksso much likemy first love. — Vladimir Swirynsky   …

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