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May 8, 2007
For Watchful

There was a thin boy who lived on the other side of the river. He played under the Chinese palms and rested in the English ivy. Sometimes they came out to give him food, other times just to give him a kick. He gathered wood and made music with it. It sounded sad drifting across the water. He was a beautiful boy, though I couldn’t see the shape of his face from the distance. I sensed him moving about mostly when the moon was high. One day he built a raft and floated away when the sun rose.