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43 King Salmon Salmon packed in ice are not swimming, they’re saving. Saving their breath; saving their shekels. Their gills languish mercurially. Mouths agape suggest smoking guns. But eyes look forward—lest cloudy then fishy. Sometime in the future the whole mess will transfigure. They will shimmer in Mercedes. They will flip-flop at the spa. Thus, kept on ice as they are, the Kings save for a rainy day &, should snow fall, dream of skating as if to gather up the overcast & sew a silver lining. In this, they come closest to asking for hands. ...

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