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53 On theWay to Enchanted Rock I photographed goat bones under black-eyed Susans, then held a torn paper sack while my son gathered white bits of vertebrae, leg and skull. He said they were lion’s bones. He found a round piece of bone I could see through and sorted fragments like a shaman, the barbed wire fence behind him, baby goats and their mothers lying on the other side. Near Fredericksburg, a flock of grackles rose, a black sail, in front of us. Surely there is grace near dim bones blooming in gray tents of March rain. ...

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