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5 Summer Tenants The white spider riding my shoulder from the reed bush, like a bit of cotton down, will not be here long enough to get to know. The sweat bee that mines the wet crease of my neck had hummed through the door, disoriented as a vacationer dropping his bag in the vestibule. From late spring, the neighborhood might as well be Ireland, Egypt, or Patagonia, full of creatures that come with “Ninety Days” stamped on their passports. I don’t begrudge them their itineraries, any more than I do their lives, but the speed at which they buzz over my perennials, looking only at what drew them from the brochure. ...

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