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Exercise in Chasing Grouse
by Becca Yenser

On a cold day,
the coldest I've known,
my dog is chest-barreling
through the snow
in pursuit of a wild-beaked grouse.

Instead we happen upon
a goose with one wing snapped,
her mate feeding her,
her blood a stunning shade.

Between bites he eyes
that great V in the sky, watches
as they chant and bend
to virtual idea,
to wings lost in common design.







 

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