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Stripped
Bare
Noon
sun,
my sins revealed
on a clear winter day—
the last leaves finally falling
away.
The
Road from Anatevka
Slow
ache
as she dances
out of our tradition—
maintaining balance, fiddler on
the roof.
First Concerto
The
scales
are tedious,
a long way from Chopin—
she closes her eyes and fingers
the keys.
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