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two parts of the same sarovar
born of a single drop
that odd river flowing north
the white frozen farm
and ice fog crystal cold
wants silence more than me
than the distance between the island and its ocean
old man market cypress and surf
cliffs wanting a stone face
lacking the right kind of water
facing the right side of sun
almost
and that water
at the point rivers turn left a little
senses a brick archway bridge
1902
north of me
sometimes stagnant
quiet and seeping
through wooden rail fingers
combing
once was water
gracewater
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