gone fishing
like cottonwood seeds
on a summer day
all my strategies
levitate
dozing off
in dwindles of thought
on a grassy bank
slippery here dusty there
the beauty of time
dry against water
pods and leaves land
they float and bob
lazy in green green
water verging at my feet
nothing of this world
sticks to my wayward mind
while I view myself
fishing instead
no town no work
a daydream line dangling
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