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The Fish Are Doing

ENO BAR (Soncino, Italy) ~ for Paolo Frassini

The fish are doing their egg and sperm thing in the canal and the air smells like lunch, slathered with rosemary garlic oil and thyme. There was a time when the distance between bait and sushi was disturbing, but I’ve gotten better, like poetry, throwing my line where it doesn’t belong and easy does it, I take a nap. The rabbits guarding the castle wall know this, hopping down to the canal for a drink. The dead one in particular, who’s just been lying there. Only time knows what goes on inside any of us. The fog’s been thick for about a week and we’re hungry for what we can’t see. Like poetry, we’ll eat anything we can get our hands on.

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