The first time Robert Shaw heard the Poetry Cloud speak, he thought it was Elizabeth.
Not in the way that grief makes you hear a voice in a crowd or see a face in a crowd of strangers. Grief was a scattered thing, a static that filled the gaps between what you expected and what you got. This was different. This was precise. This was a sentence, spoken in Elizabeth's voice with Elizabeth's rhythm and Elizabeth's particular way of placing emphasis on the third syllable of a word,...
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