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Harriet Levin




He kept his eyes on her as if collapsing

the space between them, bringing the ceiling down

to its foundation, flattening the dimensions

of her thinking. The slow and deliberate way

he pulled back the plastic sheeting covering the marble

only an inch or two while he continued

holding her gaze, then abruptly turned his head

to stare at something else instead—some garbage cans

filled with refuse from his studio, curious

about the garbage and what it held.  

He could turn it into art. It would become

part of his process using it for his art.

Instead of working just one project,

he was surrounding himself with another,

marble and refuse, the one still wrapped in plastic

ready to be moved and the one that’s been

removed from floor, chair and bed—swept up, crushed.



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