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Poetry

A cloud floats in a pool that turns like a slow clock,
helping these insects slide from birthing shucks.

*

Duns roil the surface, twitch and flutter,
a newborn or paralytic who believes
he can rise and walk again, if only the wind
would command him.

*

Halos drift around red and blue spots
that star the sides of trout, flares
in rushing water like tongues
of flame.

*

Heron loves the river cast in green, erratic light
broken over the sycamore’s body
that translates these watery scriptures
into parables of branch-shadow.

*

A fish wrings its tail, flings itself
toward the molting sky, mouth open
to a psalm of snared flies.

*

More than half the world is covered by water,
yet most of us are afraid of drowning.

For Ron Rash


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