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Mar
24
2012
Appeared in Free Inquiry, vol 32 issue 3

Rill

Austin MacRae


POEM Rill Austin MacRae Before I heard how loggers loosed their logs on down the mountainside by sluice, constructing miles of flume along a floor of bowing ferns; before I grasped how water works with gravity to minimize the timber’s heft and haul; before I sank a hatchet deep and...

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