Souhegan River

We pass between black banks like gates, true like a knife, safe though sailing through thin air. The sky is swallowed up in depth. Our canoe skims over the top of the bottomless river, sus pended between endless up and endless down, on a mirror darkened by age. From the banks spring equals wings. Trees and their reflections wade like paddles pushing through the water, thickened by the effort made.

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