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113 SPAWN Biting down, I take into myself half-frozen herring eggs, salty pops and crunches tooth-strained off spruce boughs, tar-tang of needles sucked past the chill. Inside me’s their Inside Passage— they hatch and school, return to spawn in this milky way—vast briny tingle of a lifetime’s kisses— all those refused lingering on the tongue . . . all those indulged, dissolved, the sting on the skin, the spiny-edged kelp-laden surf— tiny explosions of lives taken, given, on the incoming tide. ...

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