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Contents Page: March, 2010, vol 6 no 1
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Don Miller
The Current
| at the stream’s edge |
I always enjoyed tossing sticks from a bridge into the creek, |
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then running to the other side to wait for them to reappear. |
| folding paper cranes |
Years later I taught the game to my kids, dropped a few into |
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the slow-moving current, watched as they disappeared. |
| wings spread |
Now, as I lean on the opposite bridge rail, my oldest emerges |
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from underneath, floats toward the forest’s edge ... |
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