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This notion of time as both fixed and fluid extends into the mechanics of the collection: the line breaks, elisions and susurrations, the position of the words on the page.

The soothing susurration of a thickly wooded forest calls to Van Pelt.

I like the susurration of that middle line, and the sly nod to the capital city in the last one.

Many folks, it turned out, mentioned the susurrations of trees.

The susurration of their wings lulls me, I guess.