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79 Back Yard Beneath the flowers, corpulent beetle grubs, the color of old teeth, lay dormant and tightly muscled. over, though, the blue moth comes to the cup of the lily, and moves like a flickering electric light, like a weak star exposing the possibility of night when she might slip undetected from their bed, and be left alone to do as she truly wishes, to crawl through the back yard to search in moonlight and without judgment for the footsteps all others want forgotten. slowly downhill, she would move and methodically, through the sour turn of composting leaf and toward the edge of woods where she could sleep in the dead boy’s fort which stands empty, too, and falling back into the earth’s cold embrace. ...

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