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I couldn't work out what was happening.
I walked to the end of the rickety pier,
drew a bucket of cold water from the lake
and saw things I had not seen the day before
though the weather seemed much the same:
Silvery fish darted under the surface,
water boatmen skedaddled on its skin,
ripples from a long gone motorboat
lapped the large flat stone at the shore's edge
and the brown stems of giant lily pads curved
down into the murk. A cormorant flew
low and fast across the bay's wide mouth
and out of sight, while the deep cells continued
their slow work of invisible rewiring.
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