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Blake taught me to see
“a World in a Grain of Sand, a Heaven
in a Wild Flower, and to hold 
Infinity in the palm of my hand.”
This I remember 
whenever I commit 
to memory the many photos
I always see of you:
the selfie you took one sunny Sunday afternoon,
the homemade pesto pasta you made
for your sister’s thirteenth birthday,
your arms wrapped ‘round the family’s black Labrador,
and the boomerang of you throwing 
your toga cap up in the air, basking 
in the radiance and idealism of that day.
But, what I’m most fond of
is a clip of you, playing
your ukulele as you sang
The Carpenters’ You.
Shame it only lasted a day.

You see, I practice what I learned—
my desire for you is assuaged
by your many parts and pieces, 
captured in snapshots, 
recreating your shape and likeness— 
throbbing with life.

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