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107 No Trespassing I have walked here before, entered a chain link gate at the end of a narrow dirt road, happy to see the weeds overtaking it but knowing it is owned— somewhere circled on a map. I have arrived too late to return home before dark. I have gathered the seeds in my cuffs and socks and laces, undergone the inspections of owls and deer as mindless in the moment of watching as trees. I have entered the mask of the web, tiny builder diving for weeds, have heard the voices come back slowly to meet my silence and have tracked the crackling of leaves over the whole long face of a hill, but never have I seen this place in the light of so much moon and stars— leaves and needles shining on the ground and in the air. I want to stand still forever. ...

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