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August 17, 2004 - A poem about  Situations


The fallen trees
of who you were
hiding from today
are now an angry dam
holding back the roar and flow
where should be stream
and gulley tempered gleam.

The things you said
just tiny matchsticks in the swhirl,
or riverdust in the swell.
Like helpless ants in the water -
massed behind the downhill pull.


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