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It could be everything
has heart and soul
of some dimension,
like the lupine in a pot
trying to grow – it
could be even the dry
hulls, the hollow stems
and skeletons of old
feed, claim some residual
brilliance yet to be realized
by summer cows this fall
in a healthy, suckling bull.
Everybody knows –
even the mosquito
ever-probing for a pulse.
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