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42 TRYING TO REMEMBER What am I willing to lose? Hear traffic on gravel and know It is morning, dark clouds Rippled with wind, small birds Flinging from trees. Already You are far away, the molecules Of scent you left in the air Vanishing, the bright speck Of a plane arcing toward the coast. There is part of me that wants A failing, here, where dry land Awaits rain, where larch yellow On a slope I have no name for, Where mist borne out of stubble Will turn to frost soon, Which is the beauty of not going on, Of not my home. Hear shotguns And realize the geese are leaving, Realize the hazards contained In the ideas of hope, am learning How far sound can carry In this geography, this departure. ...

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