I'm Stephanie Wong, and I'm your guide through the people in places that make up the internet.

And I'm back as the host of the third season of Where the Internet lives, a podcast from Google about

the unseen world of data centers. This season, we're exploring how data centers change the world

around them in surprising and transformative ways. We'll hear stories about prairie restoration,

the solar energy boom, recycled canal water, and cities

undergoing economic transformation. Subscribe to where the internet lives on Google Podcasts, YouTube,

Apple, Spotify, or anywhere you get your shows. Hello and welcome to the Daily Poem. I'm Heidi White,

and today is Monday, July 19th. Today I'm going to read for you a poem by American poet, Billy Collins. He was born in 1941, and he is still alive and writing poetry today. Billy Collins was the U.S. Poet Laureate for two terms, and the New York State Poet Laureate, also for two terms.

He's also a regular guest on National Public Radio.

He speaks regularly, leads poetry readings.

He's taught at several universities, won several fellowships.

He's just a giant in the world of American

letters. And today's poem is called Fishing on the Susquehanna in July. And this is how it goes.

I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna or any river for that matter, to be perfectly honest.

Not in July or any month have I had the pleasure, if it is a pleasure, of fishing on the

Susquehanna. I am more likely to be found in a quiet room like this one, a painting of a woman on the

wall, a bowl of tangerines on the table,

trying to manufacture the sensation of fishing on the Susquehanna.

There is little doubt that others have been fishing on the Susquehanna, rowing upstream in a

wooden boat, sliding the oars under the water, then raising them to drip in the light.

But the nearest I have ever come to fishing on the Susquehanna was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia,

when I balanced a little egg of time in front of a painting in which that river curled around a bend under a blue cloud ruffled sky, dense trees along the banks, and a fellow with a red bandana sitting in a small green flat-bottom boat holding the thin whip of a pole.

...