Leaves
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127 DANIEL GUTSTEIN LEAVES I walk the runoff to the river find the cove among rain-filed rock where Warren and I used to spit chew. It is summer going on fall and I know that, just before dusk a patch of bright yellow leaves on the opposite shore will reflect upon the water like a lantern. I need this time beside the current, the chant of the runoff as it drops through trunks, brush, and dirt. This, another year I’ve come alone to watch the leaves light up the river. ...
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