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The Pool Rise to the surface, flex and spin and dart Out of the water, in again, your leap For the dragonfly that hums above defeated; If it is caught, you fall with it again Into the rippled morass of confusion, Your perfect aim not to be so sustained, For you are quick or slow beyond control. Mirroring mountains, dark facsimile Of yellow pine and blue-scarred granite face, Your pool suddenly rises with spring rains And surface melt from ancient snow deposits Beneath the drift of seasons; or it drops, In autumn, seeping down through stony gulches That dry and shine amid the lifting willows. Within this change you move, minutely felt By air and water; and the dragonflies Are real, are food reducible to fish; And no leap takes you from these waters until One day the brittle fly is cast and you, Leaping and drawn at once, are pulled beyond The flexions and reprisals of the pool.  You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. ...

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