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a pebble on the gate every morning
a boy kneels on the lakeshore, clutching a line

a man in the fog, carrying a lantern
a weathered fence with a few youngwood repairs
a face lit by the fire, turning
a thief hung from an ancient willow
a silhouette against the sky, black blue and pink
a spinning wheel, the clink of stoneware

a room filled to the ceiling with rocks
he cries out

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