we're sitting at the lake and we're asking ourselves is it getting dark yet

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On April 8th as we sat at the lake, a whole city of there on the rocks and boardwalk, I watched a plane descend towards Billy Bishop while I could still look up. On the last day of March the heart is still and everything returns to glory. Billy wondered how some people cry heaven and it is good while death and its shadow descend from somewhere starward and cast the corpse solar, across the horizon, where there will be nothing to see.

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