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The ferns are soaked through

By Kathy Epling / December 3, 1984



The ferns are soaked through. Rain everywhere: the river centers just beyond my porch. Rocking & rocking my child I say sleep, sleep, the sky blankets us. Here is your other mother, the winter come with warm squirrel fur & pouches of nuts. Here are our handfuls red oak leaves, apples, stones shining the rosehips & mushroom, a wild duck feather Now in the dark deer stand & look at you my snug acorn, my sweet berry, my heart's clear weather

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