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                                     by Stephen Cushman
  My ocean's the one bad weather blows out to. To face the other, waves all driven by prevailing1 winds, I have to turn my back on my family. May they forgive this westward2 spree, my losing my head to ravens3 that ride the thermals4 in circles, to the shrub-covered bluffs5 of coastal6 scrub and chaparral, to coons in the avocado trees; may they not worry that I see signs warning Great White Shark Area, Rutting Elk7 May Be Aggressive, and Hazardous8 Surf, or that one night two quick earthquakes burped through the ground; and may they repeat, when I return slightly burned from the land of poppies, all the lessons they ever taught me about odination in the ordinary. 点击  收听单词发音  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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