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It’s not that that the world will snap into place
like a Tinker Toy or a long buried puzzle piece
rummaged, at last, from behind an ancient
cushion. It’s not that the fruit will fall from the tree
at its pinnacle of ripeness and leap, plump and perfect,
into your waiting hands. It’s not that the line will part
or the gridlock evaporate or the fog fissure into
clarity. It’s not that October will segue into bright blue
summer. This is not how it works. The light at the end of the tunnel
needs a tunnel.