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Linda Ann Strang – Ⅳ

Where They Say: Don’t Touch. 




The river is by what it isn’t,

like time:


a cry out of U-shapes,

the former lover of an oxbow lake,


a stutter of interrupted trees

out of phase,


a hum of brush music,

and a deep gouge


all the way back to the faint hope

of an under-painting.


The river’s signature is a delta,

above a gold frame;


in the past, there were the open legs

of an easel.


Touch the river and kiss

it. Let it gouge out a gorge


for your dreams,

where the stars tumble in the pebbles,


rejuvenated, way down.