ars poetica
Crouched on clenched fists and scabby knees
Withdrawing from the pond's icy fractured surface
Her cracked pursed lips and dripping face
Twisted to peer through me the furrowed Sky
Where dart to cover
Through a three-way mirror
Nimbuses like frantic fishes
Or waking dreams
And now can I put a name
To what I had
No name for
"I don't wonder you love boating, Mr. Allnut"
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