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On a Summer Stream

The sunlight shattered into roads
etched across
glass more beautiful still
clear, buoyant, and eternal
more than anything
human
even the stone bridge
that, crumbling, supports itself,
mother to mosses and
children standing
always on the edge--for children do not fear--
to drop sticks, pine-cones, leaves,
watch them fly.

Author notes

Kinda metaphorical, kinda not. Tell me what you think!

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