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You can still make out the waterfall
and further downstream
it goes through you --the night

won't cool but you
hose your yard as if these stars
were always wet --you too are thirsty

and the dark paleozoic marsh
drains forever, your hands falling out
learn how to take in air, your mouth
gigantic, staring at rock.

Your breath still needs this water
needs nights and under your yard
can feel a reaching up, a caked riverbed

spreads and your brain the only trace
that once something damp
did the dreaming.

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