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01.10.10 / 8:58 pm
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he thinks of vermont and feet of snow in the winter,
and of the lake in the summer,
where he'd jump, suddenly weightless, into the water,
the dock covered with barnacles.there's a sound in the trees,
not birds, but maybe wind in the leaves,
sound that carefully stirs memories,
like re-reading old favorites in the library.
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