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Poems by Philip Arnold Lightning A warm breeze rummages through the valley, finding so little left--our two bodies and the calamity of mud rising along the thick ankles of trees. So much hope rising--but how things come back like the thunderclap of lightning-a huge ball slammed against the heart of the world--swift, so full of the violence of the sky, so much like the sound of creation. Water Lilies Beginning by afternoon, the water lilies drift off, make room for themselves beneath the new sun. What's worth doing is worth doing well, but how far have you gone just drifting through the cool waters, gliding along the dark walls of some unfamiliar pond? To be honest, the lilies don't really swim away. Caught below water in a tangle of stems, one can go only as far as another one gives. Maybe you know this already, maybe you've already disappeared inte the pond, drifted beneath the pinkish-white flowers so the water touches you everywhere.
Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press
Published: Jan 8, 1995
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