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        By 
        Katie McAllaster Weaver 
      Someone has died,  
        somewhere in the  
        world.  
      I can feel it  
        like a knock at my  
        chest.  
      Sprawled  
        on our lawn  
        I try to count  
        the stars  
        to see if  
        there is evidence in  
        the sky.  
      I keep counting,  
        unsure if I've  
        miscounted.  
      I don't know,  
        but I think  
        there is one  
        missing. 
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