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1.
If she were not
immortal, then merely to take
him into her
lap again would crush her
2.
If she were not
immortal, her dead son not so
nearly so, then she
could not dawdle, braiding
the hair in front of the ears,
shaking her
head, combing the beads
free with her fingers --
but here, the sweat
that dried beneath his
breastplate and inside the loosened
bands of the greaves still outlines
the relaxed bell
of the muscles, a powder
sweet enough for a mother
to ponder tasting.
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