Spring 1990 • Vol. XII No. 2 |

The Trap

When he stared into her eyes, he stuttered, knowing that whatever he said he'd imagined a thousand times and each of those thousand times, he couldn't find the words—not moon nor lips, not the simplest image of love. All he could utter were sounds, sounds from deepin the windpipe, an animal caught in an abandoned leg trap, repeating its simple cry, clear and pure as silence.

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