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     His noiseless blooming in the callous earth. I followed
a dry-bone branch, spiderweb-cracked, off the Running Turkey. 
     Under a concrete no-name bridge. Fusty, sallow,
skeletal bass, half-sunk in rock-mud, mouth open to the murk…
          Driftless one, did you drown in the air
               as you guarded last fry? Did you glare
          as your pool was slowly not there? 



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