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Cedar MountainsStone carp swim in sweet water.I watch them with a luminous face. Unexpected boxes are dotted about the pond. Weeds of rope thrash my legs. Some unbalanced wood creates a shrewd pier, which I sit on dangling my feet above the water. I dare not go onto the sand for it is like fierce nails to my feet. I will stay here in the cedar Mountains. |
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Issue #24, December, 2001 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.