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Ted Kooser


They seem to be made of a light
like that which falls on flowing water,
and each is aware of the other's
every breath, of every ripple
rolling away from the tiny splash
of a fly, for they are as one,
each a part of the other, held by
something between them
as they graze, turning and turning,
afloat on a current of meadow,
passing under the bridges of clouds.