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I Dreamt A Land Porpoise
by Frank Duffy

in a small collection of water
was a beast beyond imagination.
two black agates of eyes flanked his head,
and two curious holes opened up on his shiny thick clear slipcover back
four feet.

he was small iguess. small anyway for a porpoise.
smaller than the dog.

where the water ended the cement began,
but the image was small.
and, the tarmac bled into starchy, plain vanilla-white.
arent’s night visions fleeting? at least un-whole?

he had the faintest smile, as dolphins might.
(as if a joke were know, but not to be told)

no, no, now he was altogether too hard to discern-
like rain, one drop from another,
like a water’s edge.

it’s said that time heals,
but as I woke from an ocean of sleep -
wherefrom moments and spectables whish and churn us
up and over - time hurt.

into whatever vessel holds these moments, those spectacles
all went and fast,
leaving me still and bereft of my will to remember,
with an image of a puddle
and a poodle of a porpoise.



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