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Doug Potter
Poems
Sep 2016
Miriam's pond
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.
Written by
Doug Potter
Iowa
(Iowa)
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