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49 A M O N G F I R E F L I E S Their blinking lights surround me. I enter each wave of birch and beech in the green darkness, and crest through needles of hemlocks— a nebula expands around me. I cup some in my hands, open my palm’s pink cave to see how they flicker there. I lift them up to let each go beneath the treetops, and the moon begins to rise. ...

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