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62 A HORSE GRAZES IN MY SHADOW after James Wright Startled by my breath it bolts to the other end of the field. The horizon’s brow rasps against a green cloud, which seems both desperate and sincere. Into a dead tree a flame of bird drives its burning beak. And somewhere out here I have come to terms with my brother’s suicide. I wish the god of this place would put me in its mouth until I dissolve, until the field doesn’t end and I am broken down like a rifle, swabbed clean. ...

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