vi Heartsong
Always may there be a stand of balsam set back from the river, and a mama beaver emerged from her nest into early dusk, grooming her punky, wicked fur, steeping her tail in the water & eating, the noise of her chomping like kissing; & always her kits will be slipping under the fringe of the willow to reach her, and almost with a sigh, almost with a shrug she’ll turn and waddle up the bank dock a branch and trawl it back to where they bicker & play & feed in their recess of water & reed; & the bliss of their dwelling will rest on the evening, it is here.
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