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Inside passage

Forest . . . clearing . . . rockshore . . . Alaska-bound on a cloudy Thursday, August throbbing underfoot, See the moments pass To port and starboard: Deep green hills Sharp-edged with spruce And behind them, dim and still, The years rising into cloud Up where ridges thrust, a meadow harbors night, Yet nothing stirs.

Your first love is up there,

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The summer you learned to swim,

Wet coral airstrips. But only the moments move, being Near enough to reflect Our passage. (Deeper in vacation You'll perceive, for a while, without The habit of explanation.) Forest . . . blue smoke . . . a cabin . . . Rocks with drying nets . . . thicket . . . A bear (cameras! shouts!)

a beached canoe . . . Pass with a subtle turn,

recede, begin To fuse with the years. To be Recalled to binocular freshness, evergreen.

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