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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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