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Three in the afternoon
of a warm September day
in the gentle rock boat
on the lake of dreams,
she fishes…

all day, it seems.

A timeless seven hours past,
there were solid bites
threatening to pull her under
into the dream of lost-selves.

Nibbles, nibbles,
only nibbles.
“Life is such a tease,” she thinks,
flicking her cigarette
into the water.

A school of bluegill
swarm around her butt,
fighting, chasing it
to the deep.
“Figures…”

Nothing all day,
even through solar goodbyes.
She retires the pole,
lays down to gaze above.
In the gentle rock boat,
the dreams below
whisper her softly
to the starry dreams above.

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