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Drawing Water
Balancing my book bag
On my hip, I press
On the fountain with
My left thumb, tipping
The empty bottle to catch
The cold water.
But as it squirts, it
Spills over my fingers
It is a chatty spring
Trickling over ancient
Mossy stones.
So I plunge my face
Into its iciness and
Drink,
As a fish
Tickles my nose.
I adore you
As I walk to class
I think I see you hiding
in every tree,
blowing down a kiss
upon every French Fry breath
of wind from the Campus Inn,
and I remember last night’s
dinner and how you enticed
me to tumble with you in
the deserted Play Place
after our midnight
dollar McSundaes.
I don’t like overcast weather in May
because when the blue lake-
sky above me welcomes the birds
and island-clouds, I get to stretch
all the way up through my hands,
just like the trees do,
and scoop down the clearness, to cool
my busy, typed-to-stubs fingers.
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