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Sep 2016
We walked two miles through July wheat fields
that undulated  beneath Sunday morning sun
like golden swans.

The pond was glacier stone smooth, and canopied
by silver maple and swamp oak; willows lined
the  banks.

Miriam unfastened her hair, tossed her blouse
over my shoulders,  kicked her cut-offs
toward the boat’s bow,

and dove.
Doug Potter
Written by
Doug Potter  Iowa
(Iowa)   
709
       ---, Ahmad Cox, Francis T, RJW, Ramin Ara and 28 others
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