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A turn in the river

By Joseph Powell / March 1, 1984

There is a turn in the river where fish lie deep and water thinks things over: leaf swill, the soundless clicking of rocks, a tennis shoe turning green. A boy lies at the edge examining two dimensions, how they meet sometimes and leave with more to say. He walks home dragging a stick, leaving ant hills unstirred, flowers open-eyed, wondering about a foot that fit a shoe, where the deepest water goes.

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