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August
2003-08-16 10:22
by Score Bard

A still August lake,
like a smooth mirror, reveals
yourself to yourself.

Perhaps you're a stone,
scratched, flawed, dull, dark, dense, heavy,
sinking slowly down.

Or, like a prism,
the light shines on you and you
make it brilliant.

Autumn awaits you.
Ripples inch you back and forth.
Nothing is resolved.

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