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Poem from Cecile Rossant

hushed time creeping quietly out of the mouth
between the teeth
time lapping against the cheekbone arch 

a swirl of dark pooling in the eye socket 

a swirl of dark
the sun still low
skin cool 




fish? in these waters?

one escaping the city
yes. of course. 

this canal leads somewhere 




don't tell her about the escapee 

she doesn't need to relive his death 

yet again 

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