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Thursday, December 12, 2013



Down the Delta, below Courtland.
Before Walnut Grove, there used to be
A large hotel; "Came right up to
The road.", said Fred, trying to recall
Its name.  Burned down, nothing left
To mark it at all.  No one there able
to recall that name.  The river has
Its own intentions, remembers and
forgets at will, rises and falls,
Carries everything downstream,
Trees, boats, bodies, the procession
Of days, to the Bay, then to the ocean.
It too cannot recall the names.  Its
Past is all the land, its character,
Any particular spot along its course
Recalled at random, collectively agreed
Upon as having some things in common
With the flow of conversation.

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