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134 f r o m g o u r d s e e d a s e c t i o n o f t h e o c o n e e n e a r w a t k i n s v i l l e Before I get in, the aluminum canoe floats flat on the shine of water. Then I ruin its poise. Middle of the first shoal, though, I’m out, stumbling through the ankle-breaking rocks. Canoe free-floating downstream, without decision or paddle. I lunge and bruise across the shallows to get a forefinger in the rope eye on the stern. June afternoon light. June afternoon water. I know there’s a life being led in lightness, out of my reach and discipline. I keep trying to climb in its words, and so unbalance us both. The teacher’s example is everywhere open, like a boat never tied up, no one in it, that drifts day and night, metallic dragonfly above the sunken log. ...

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