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This poem is taken from PN Review 4, Volume 4 Number 4, July - September 1978.

The Pool C.H. Sisson

All options close: a devious life
Flows no more beyond this point.
Devious and plentiful stream, you come to a stop
Here, in this meadow, I am incredulous
-Instead of a river, a pool, no bigger than nothing,
As if the source must end as it begins.
Does it go underground, does it go at all?
Liquid and deep and still, that seems to be all.
So deep, that it has transparency
Like a cube of glass. I could get through easily:
Yet not, for a million reflections this way and that
Warn against any movement, better stand pat.
If I moved, I should go topsy-turvy,
More like a hall of mirrors. While I waited
On the bank, looking at the interior,
It sometimes seemed farther and sometimes nearer.

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