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Lilah Clay


To clasp chrysanthemums
at my chest,
in a rowboat or coffin.
To lie here,
pulling in breath,
aching toward human.
My hands fall asleep,
turn into paper
lanterns catching flame.
All the magic
knit into me,
moments unshared,
awake within a wake.
On the altar of
scatter sea salt,
offer cornmeal.
Invent your own prayers
to snag
the departing skirt
of rain
to turn back
and purify.

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