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89 nemo Sound of the creek rushing in the full moon light the wee hour traffic sighing in and out with the surf off the flank of California Hours before making love we heard a sound like GROK-GROK saw a raccoon through the scrim of the open tent flap standing on his hind legs sniffing in peering in and then their shadows running past Now her face in the glowing seems blissful open as a map in sleep And I’m up my head nattering puzzling it out That boy in New York who dreamed himself a banished king no one in the moonlight who never came back ...

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