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A Poem: Birches Under Snow 

I can see myself at 10 paces
I am my own second, my own enemy
and my own enemy's second.
I can see the steam rising from my mouth
In the brilliant cold
But no one else can;

Just as well.
No one hears the report
As my enemy and I fall.
And the seconds collect our things.

The frozen woods are the same
After the wolves drag our bodies away.
This is what we remember after all:
The peace and quiet of the unattended place.

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