Miracle's truck comes down the little avenue, Scott Joplin ragtime strewn behind it like pearls, and, yes, you can feel happy with one piece of your heart.
Take what's still given: in a room's rich shadow a woman's breasts swinging lightly as she bends. Early now the pearl of dusk dissolves. Late, you sit weighing the evening news, fast-food miracles, ghostly revolutions, the rest of your heart.
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