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80 The Poet Stumbles upon a Buddha in Gamelands  above Tipton, Pennsylvania A young boar (Ursus americanus) rests his rump on the pliable beam of a devil’s walking stick, bending the tree halfway to the ground so he might claw black and purple pebbles from its crown into a mouth as large as a bushel-basket, tongue turned dark as the sweet scat he leaves in the middle of the path, a host of berries littering his belly, and his great head reared back in a grin, no concern for abundance or waste or for what comes after this early September light, which filters down through yellow poplar leaves, wind making a sound like temple bells caught seventy feet up in the canopy. For David Shumate ...

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