Today’s the day ,/Dad points out the deep ravine,/though tempted otherwise/.to revile with glee/all he saw before him,/ a lightwork in infamy./Enough the tough guy,/torching stacks of lumber/he filled the ravine with ease./We come from a place /where the river flows backward, famous for flies, where you’re expected / to make love/to dying wives. /As you belt out your dead end fevers,/you can barely hear them/as they fade in the distance./I feel the wind upriver;it carries/a memory from a raising./Think of how they worked it,/all dykes and derricks./sometimes, I’m pleased/that I know exactly where I am/on another pristine river:/I can hand out fame in portions.

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