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Dreamburgh, Pennsylvania
    For David Blair

Rosy little bridges of goodbye
staple the valley together
over the shaving cut
of this river whose waters
don’t make you forget
like that dank rill
in the underworld
but remember odd miraculous
thrills from middle school
like the sound of Velcro
ripping apart when you tore
open your fire-red
Ferrari Trapper Keeper
to pages of notes
about otters
or the paper football
you flicked
into Jean Shebleski’s
precocious cleavage the river
cluttered with scows
sailboats barges
and prismatic oilspills
where people catch blind fish
and make a wish
when they throw their empties
in and some days
you think everyone
should wear a bright orange
life vest and bob around
on the water here
in Dreamburgh, Pennsylvania
where the buses are powered
by the collective goodwill
of the people the litter
is beautiful most everyone
recycles and we think about death
only once in a great while.