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That breathe
Between school and asphalt lake,
Virginia Creeper leaves fall first,
Red negatives with saw-teeth edges
Pasted,
Mid-pulse,
Against dull dirt.
Roots rubbed smooth by bike tires cross the trail.
Each leaf has been seen.
These trees store a record
Of the same floods as us in their rings.
And yet,
A warp and weft —
Spider web, owl pellet,
The scatter of shadows on box turtle's back —
Occasionally gleams
Through the density
Of dying green.
Days are still long.
Half-grown fawns startle here.
Grey foxes bide their invisible time,
Sharp eyes dark stars.
Vol. 43, no. 2, 2015