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Today a black bear walks
     the creek and treads the footprints

I left there yesterday. Drinking,
     she tastes the salt I shed,

mixed with a green note,
     the spring falling through ferns.

Across her nose, a caress —
     ripples that pulsed away

from my throat, standing in water, speaking
     to rocks, to trees. Perhaps she hears

an echo still:
     Thank you. Thank you.

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Carla Baku

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