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Poem	Along the sun-drenched roadside, from the great hollow half-treetrunk, which for generations has been a trough, renewing in itself an inch or two of rain, I satisfy my thirst: taking the water's pristine coolness into my whole body through my wrists. Drinking would be too powerful, too clear; but this unhurried gesture of restraint fills my whole consciousness with shining water. Thus, if you came, I could be satisfied to let my hand rest lightly, for a moment, lightly, upon your shoulder or your breast.
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