A hidden stream runs deep
through the soil under this town.
There is the river, of course
churning through its channelled
constricted structured way.
But there is another web
of hidden streams
a ream of unwritten rivulets
that oozes in silence
beneath the stones and roadways
(excerpt from the poem “Fay”)
RAC
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Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
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