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73 Strata of Darkness and Light The crows, those thousand black filings risen from your field, drew toward their own blue traces. White Oak leaves purpled around her bare back. Over you, silence in a strobe of free particulars, stars of every size sinking and lifting at new levels. Her hands in yours, you rose into darkened air, the gentler smell of wood smoke folding in like the first time two terrestrials went sniffing out over the leaves, and perhaps, a whole copperhead family creasing the pure flow of the lower grasses. You short-kicked into place as if the telescopes of earth dragged you out along your boyhood where you could see the open rowboat packed with light. Tiny turquoise beads trailed down the raw insides of a last caress. After rain, you were yourselves, and standing. ...

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