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Stonepoem.com

July 24, 2004 - A poem about Nature

Goldfish

A fishball is
rotating round
the scrapes of
my luncheon
but only one
winner is in the
swim.

His shoalsnap
on the turn
of hunger’s tide
jumps at the sun
through surface
shroud.

I think of us
with all the
to and fro
of being, and
our own chase
for instinct’s
ride.

But for now
it is time to go -
the wasps are
out.

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