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On grass I placed a plate of stone.
No birds drank from it,
no errant cats on sly intent,
nor did deer, often evident
this time of year, lap their reflected edge.
So cool was the plate of stone,
its scant profile on the lawn,
that it might have been a dead
blackbird basking in the sun,
were it not for the fact I knew
stone was all I heaped upon my plate.