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Desertion | A Poem by Sommer Lyn Cullingford

From the water’s
outskirts,
a glittering hem
and bitter breath
snarl the surface.

Heavy
with rocks in my locket,
I tomb my toes into
pebbles, distressed
by shifting
density;
I’m intransigent to wind –
but supple,
soundless suggestions
send glittering flags
in tiny directions.

A wild arc
into the grey
lattice-work
of winter bones
and out through
their dead fingers
is where the time goes

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