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i move in clothing as dark as nautical dawn, a shadow with silent steps. the houses are sleepy; bits of light filters through blinds from the television sets of early risers. i cross a busy intersection where there isn’t a stoplight, take my time between large gaps of morning motorists; step into the enclave of a street i inhabited in infancy, thirty-eight years removed. at the automotive test track, there’s spaced-out cars too numerous for park use. in the distance, the ren cen stands erect, glows in bands of gold and sandstone, like the sun yet to rise. a bag slings over my right shoulder, holding bits of love to deliver on foot, and i pray i don’t get jumped at drouillard. a slow-moving car brakes at the corner, near a haf-priced convenience, and a dark-haired woman steps out with a manila envelope. a blonde woman across the street wobbles, bending to pick up something scattered curbside. and i know now what was happening in those parked cars and the risk that looms for these women but not for me. at factoria, i turn left and head south for the five-lane road, closer now than i’ve ever been before. i stand on concrete islands as vehicles cruise by in waves. past the faithful church, past the hushed hospital, past an old high school friend’s house. but what i’m looking for doesn’t intersect here. i compass her name and her features from the approach, before the sign confirms what my heart intuits. here lies lorraine. there are no sidewalks here. clouds diffuse the climbing sun. i take a rest on concrete steps, on a rocking chair, in the places my love lives. and i whisper that i am home.
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