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You probably don't know
there are times I open
the door to our apartment
like a stranger walking
to the living room. I've been meaning
to tell you about the muskrat
that has built a nest in a stickpile
my parents were planning to burn
in the back of their yard.
They are waiting now
for the creek to dry up;
they invite themselves in
before we have any
sense to open the door.
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