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are floating in a shallow bowl, circles of pink layered petals that silence browns, saffrons, absorb our voices, the table, the whole room. No word for this pink which is kinder than red, warmer than rose, more substantial than sunset, invites me to think of a willow in a landscape cool as silk, the sense of each twig, each leaf, the pale eggshell sky intense as the unfathomed pool we call ...