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A Day the Same as Any Other

                                    Jeff Hardin

A man goes back to where he used to stand,
then casts rocks out into the deeper part
of the creek. Remembers how a day was much
the same as any other day in that

they all went sliding past but for the stun,
soon healed, he flung or heaved to wake them up.
He stands inside an all-familiar quiet
of surrounding, overhanging limbs

and dreams the self he is is like a rock—
its jagged edges held within his hand—
he tosses back without a blip or sound.

A stillness made more still by being full
of nothing he would add—a fullness made
more full by being
                               still and moving on.

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