parting the moss
reaching an unadorned hand
into the cold water
turning up
a bottle cap
soiled in the murky depths
a moment ago like a fish
splashing off a fat worm
fingers now in again
caressing the river bed
for the missing ring
sensation running
backwards in time
an anchor sinking into the cherwell
flashing back to the jeweler's
and tossed
upon the dreaming spires
This poem is almost incomprehensible, though perhaps all your poems are.
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