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River
Spirit Every spring along the Whitewater I saw that some mysterious hand Had rearranged the
rocks and sand. The path I followed the summer
before Was slipping off
into the water. I could not figure whose force Could drive that water among the
reeds & shift its bed & every spring draw me to its
side. Whose muscles uprooted those trees? Whose fingers patterned those stones
along the edge? I guessed only the spring thaw Conjured up the changes In those sleeping
river images.
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