I watch the lights slip and slur on the headpond and think down, toward the dam, the embankment and the long drop of the spillway where the water rests, whirled and stunned

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I don’t know where a person can go when they disappear, apart from underwater.

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i know hate, its line-mates. believe me. you kids have, i’m sure, wasted—all early morning anxious and weak-ankled—their first impatient shuffle-kicks and curses on me.