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19 STRONG STARS Mottled grouse peck up gizzard stones before the first snow— seasons move on as if the human heart were not infinitely fragile. The sow bear’s stained snout lifts, sniffs the wind, then bows to claws raking in stems, berries, rasping leaves. A twelve-year-old, pleased, tells her aunt I kissed a boy four times and my tooth grew back in. Beside the barrow ditch, the bandy-legged fox bounds into finger-thin willow. Strong stars surround the green wash of the aurora, God’s love, the moisture of a woman’s orgasm . . . From here, we can see much farther than we can walk. We walk to the edges of our bodies. ...

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