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Places I've been, places I'm going.

"The rain is a thing That surely happens in the past measured now." --Jorge Luis Borges When I went fishing with my grandfather, we went to small lakes and baited the hooks. Mostly, I looked for driftwood. Sometimes, I made a fire. I looked for rocks, the touch of moss on my fingers, the thoughtfulness of absorption. When it rained, the lake was the end, as it filled, of the morning's beginning, and after the fire died, we walked home quietly where I gutted the bass, the fish flesh, the smell of water.
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Author:Smiddy, Nina
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Date:Jan 1, 1993
Words:93
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