In November the calves seemed stronger.
I had not read a book in sixty days.
If you have ever wondered
what an acre of stacked wastebaskets
looks like, I can tell you: industry.
Puffs of smoke from the refinery,
puffs of fog above tiny puddles
the rain made in the earth
due to a property of water that keeps lilies afloat
and causes respiratory distress in infants.
I tell this to the man pouring club soda
into coffee beside me
but he pays me no heed
nor do the men in knit caps fishing in ditches;
there are few women here.
At this very moment a woman is unmooring
her face a dinghy drifting before our very eyes.
If we are tender in our movements
we can carry on without disturbing her.

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