Monday, November 8, 2010


a doe has leaped into the underbrush behind me,on the levy adjourning the woods;she hides there,
at the same time, the blue crane has spotted me across the pond, under the trees lining the levy;
just at this moment my old dog Cotton halts on a spit on sand at the edge of the pond to sight the
bird;we are each on the string of each other's stillness; no one knows who is the arrow or the bow

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