River (Waterways)
Standing in the front room, unable to remember why I came here, perhaps for a notepad, I notice a butterfly through the old glass wavy windows, its blue wings wavy, zig-zagging from bloom to bloom but never returning to the same one, and beyond, the golfers, old guys since it’s mid-morning mid-week and they don’t have to work moving up the eighteenth fairway, sometimes hitting an oak but generally progressing to the green where long ago God appeared to the evangelist, now dying in a hospital in North Carolina but then young, telling him to preach salvation, and...
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