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A friend in her early twenties
lives in a commune in Oregon,
helps plant wisteria in the garden,
and visits the midwife;
soon she will have her baby;

I write my poems, which come
from just behind my head,
play with my dogs in grass
so tall they have to jump over it,
and talk with friends, though not
about how I wait for the man I love
to come back;

a healer in her forties, a woman
who keeps her heart open, embraces joy
by remembering a lake
from her childhood, and calls forth
healing dreams by wearing a pendant
of a stone from a meteorite fallen to earth,
has cancer everywhere.

All the seasons happen at once.

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