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Sometimes it hurts to be water.
Listen to the creak on clay, the lap
the water in the ditches makes, the way
it stirs in mud. I get down on my knees
beside water, listen to the drench and drone,
and thud a stone makes sinking in the clay.
And the water, because it sings
a song so old no one remembers it,
drags its beauty slowly. How hard
to carry so much inside.
How much it hurts to be water.