The old men walk a circle from the home;
their old suits holding their bones together.
They stop at the bridge to inquire how life goes;
the river speaks differently to each, then slithers along.
Once, an old man lay down in middle of the road
just over the bridge and was killed almost instantly.
Old people see visions in rivers, they understand, walk on,
and maybe next day come back again to learn some more.
No one knows what he saw in the river, but no one doubts
that it was the river that directed him to his bed.
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