Category: Dying
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Twin waters
Water runs in streams through sandy swales, clear and cold and quick, carves underedges along tiny banks, trails pebbles too large to carry forward, and returns again in its own path to the great, wild churning. .. Water glides over broken asphalt, shifts its course over sharp, jagged cracks, deposits mud, clay from baseball diamond…
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The dying thoughts of a poet from Gorham’s Cave
I do not know what I should expect you to come to know as you unwrap my bones and the tissues of my belongings. I carved this mark for you, no one else, hoping it would make me known to you. But when young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shines once more, it will be…
