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Sep 09, 2008
Groans going all the way up a young tree
Half-cracked and caught in the crook of another
Cease. All around the hill-ringed, heavened pond
Leaves shush themselves like an audience.
An atomic pause, as of some huge attention
Bearing down. May I hold your hand?
A clutch of mayflies banqueting on oblivion
Writhes above the water like visible light.
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