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That Night in Mobridge On the reservation when we spoke in tongues but we didn’t describe it You remind me we were boys, and I see I’ll be swallowed. Looking out the window Tributary A fallen, split, and half-submerged tree guards of the city. She’s worn of her bark, dead white and bass pass under her, they leap out redder than the falling sun, lands and lands again and calls to us to live, to remain here where death touches life, where death is life, Gary Dop is an English professor at Randolph College. His poems have appeared on Minnesota Public Radio and in New Letters, Prairie Schooner, and Rattle. Father, Child, Water is forthcoming from Red Hen Press. contact • website
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