This was sent by our good friend Johanna who sells books to us and many other indie stores across the land. She lives in Louisville and I suppose she is busy shopping for a derby hat.
On Swimming
The rivers of this country are sweet
as a troubadour's song,
the heavy sun wander westward
on yellow circus wagons.
Little village churches
hold a fabric of silence so fine
and old that even a breath
could tear it.
I love to swim in the sea, which keeps
talking to itself
in the monotone of a vagabond
who no longer recalls
exactly how long he's been on the road.
Swimming is like prayer:
palms join and part,
join and part,
almost without end.
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