Look down
into the shallows,
the water so clear
it’s like a glass of air.
If memories are just
what you see inside
your own mind, what
exactly is your life?
A kingfisher
flies by at eye level
like a line drive,
its crackling cry
snapping like a flag
in a stiff breeze.
See if you can
attach yourself
to its freedom.

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This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 38 Number 2, on page 33
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