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On the day the moose stopped morning traffic

            bent under spreading tines

            and pheromones

the dog rolled in a urine-scented wallow.

            Later, when the clear night’s frost 

            began to soften, freeing the aven’s curl

to mark the slanted light, the sky filled

            with geese

            their wings gilded 

by slim southern beams. Today

            the kitchen filled with whales

            and woven kelp, worn like hats

or perhaps garlands, the way another moose, last winter

            stood in the yard

            antlers hung with some neighbor’s tinsel

casual, chewing. Placid 

            in response to my agog. It’s easy to forget

            that we wear this world

or if we do

            how to relish it. Last night

            broken from bed 

I stumbled across frozen gravel, already glittering

            like diamonds in starlight

            and tried my arms as wings

or antlers, branched 

            with sea-green leaves

            aglow with curtaining aurora light.

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