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I would like to return
the candy that I stole. 

The camp shop stares
out into the wheat and
changes mellow hands. 

Runes salt the night. 

Crabs rot in the harbor
where their eggs hatch. 

The white church sows
gravel through the corn. 

Mounds poke like nipples
beside claimless bikes. 

Tucked inside the cliff is
a bunker full of art
which only weevils see. 

One day soon we are
going out to sea but the
walk to water will take
time and many feet.

—Jack Delaney is a sophomore in Pierson College.

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