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an etude to the rising current



bloodied and eclipsed, i am

the eddied river cuts its path across the antique sand. sky,

do not be ornery:


                                        i know you swallow bile

                                        and sink the sepulchre

                                        at dusk. i know you watch the

                                        river and laugh. i am not your

          friend, please know –

                    the crimson wing ensconced in hoary feather

                    means more than watching; the weird glass corticate

                    and seasnake pith

                              might not



                    the shell sounds of chalk.

                    the limestone marker has weathered, and needs

                    a good washing. i like to listen

                    to the river as we flow and whorl and trumpet

                    her ovate din. i am not your

master, but the grainy millstone begs

a clean nose. the lichened walls have cloaked the river

for centuries. i think we built them.

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