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EARLY SPRING

Zusia parked at the far end of the library lot,

stood, sniffed the air, and laughed

to himself—he was like a dog

who puts his nose in the air

and sniffs for God-knows-what.

Zusia knew he was sniffing

to see if he could smell

spring flowers unlikely as it was, or

more likely the peaty smell

of the woods after a spring rain.