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Patrick Carle writes:
First nice day in a while. Along the Nakdong, staring at the restless water.
The piano opens — short phrases, tentative. The clarinet answers, or doesn't quite.
"You know..."
Monosyllabic, halting. Like two people who've said the necessary thing already and are now just sitting with it. Eye contact. A sigh.
Said enough. The piece ends unresolved — but somehow that's ok.
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