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45 Isthmus Across the centuries, I navigated rivers, tributaries, even an ocean to land upon this bank, secure foothold. I waited every night for the arrest of night, until I discovered your limbs branching against the sky. So I touched bark, shimmied down trunk, swallowed loose rain off leaves and cupped this resin in hand; until now shipwrecked, anchored here, on the prow, I’m netted to your chest, belly-up, sternum to spine. ...

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