At night, its base was ringed
with simple light. Only a slender 

column of water, frothing up 
from the center of the man-

made lake. Yet it seemed 
larger in my recollection, 

even more than others
I've seen in well-known parks—

elaborate sprays tumbling outward 
in the shape of lotus flowers,

rhythmic jets chasing each other 
in scallops. Perhaps by nature, 

our memories are flawed all the way 
through. Perhaps they're true only 

in so far as we need them to be:
promise of eternal return, water

that keeps giving though it draws
over and over from the same source.

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