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by Robert Lyle Temple
The spruce root curled
around the edge of a cliff
where the water fell fifty feet.
The least tip of a least root
-- Parenthesis: she took her pen,
writing how she felt,
water, sound, power, lace of spray,
persistence of the flower
stuck to the same rock edge.
The bird too close to her,
she sat so still except for the pen
-- end parenthesis --has split the rock.

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