I imagine all the deer dying alone in bushes at day or night. the day or night dying in the bushes. I imagine all deer dying this way. millions every week. millions of days or nights dying with an aloneness we can't understand. days or nights dying more alone than the words for it. they don't know how big or round the world is. millions of round bushes hoarding the secrets of deer: the turning from mammal fur to purchased moon. the deer beckoning the fox in his own tongue.
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