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One cannot study
history fast enough or imagine,
so much is missing faster than before.
So I want to take Frances to Ozette to count mosses,
the zig-zag joints of salal
tacking to the coast before it’s over, the old life,
see elk wheezing and bellowing
while there are some, remind children and visitors
the razor clam was named
for a look-alike, a steel blade they’ve never seen
folded for safety in its case,
a fibula, like a forearm touched back to its shoulder.
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