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The Creek


is a gloomy rift glimpsed

in a snow-topped creek;

offering vague impressions

of what came before,

only hinting

at the shape

of what may come after

its edges obscured

by drifts, bedeviled

by years-dead branches

crashed down

at the whim of long-forgotten

summer storms

or perhaps it flows with fluid grace

while drowned rats dance below, their

bloated corpses stuck upon slimy stones

still others feature rough-hewn edges

with reliable, chuckling eddies

tucked amid jagged


each fissure alone

a world unto itself

yet together

they herald

the coming



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