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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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