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April 18, 2011

a window full of impressions and the memory of wild beasts

a window to write a novel through

a window of the quiet rhythmic melody of parabola-sweeping ferry

there, just there:

still water / still time / with ripples

of olivebrown and silver,

and a blue at once distant and intimate, like a planet only visible once a decade

natural chaos shimmers on the surface

as if I needed more reminders of the interaction between

stability and change:

the river is never the same river, even for a moment.

on the far shore, buildings

like ancient stone formations,

overgrown and ignored like boulders and outcrops

while electricity pylons point the way to blue trees

humming, chantonner, in the distance

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