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34 Sassafras Held between pages of a book itself held between others on the shelf: a scrap of paper with the lost friend’s handwriting in black ink. Because of the dark inside, the words have not faded as otherwise they might. The book, unopened for years, opens to this place precisely, without hesitation, and without hesitation your body knows the letters’ shape, leaning gently like thin trees in wind. Three words, released by the press of darkness— like sassafras, with its three mismatched shapes of leaf: oblong, mitten, ghost. ...

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