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She was a fox. I mean, a real fox,
not a female human that some awkward but heartfelt
dude was hitting on, trying not to look like scum

and she picked her way delicately black-footed through the scum
at the water’s edge, one small fox
and the reflection of a fox, while my heart felt

all of the things that it was meant to feel; by which I mean my heart felt
happy sad warm cold love hate glorious scum
trailing after her like the shadow of a fox

in each fox-footprint my heart felt collected together like the white bubbles of river-scum.

Returning to the tritina form like the scene of a crime with three words from the lovely Natalie.

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