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Cover design by JanK
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I
I find the sea witch where she carefully digs into the dunes for stillborn sea turtles, decaying in their lumpy eggs— which she collects and cans for their healing power.
II
The moon manipulates the tides, she says, gesturing with an upturned palm toward the waves; the same force, she says, manipulates me.
III
She lives where the pines grow high, dry, and thin— and she walks there, her skin under the sun, the way she wants with no one watching.
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IV
She dances, a strange sway to my uninitiated eye, as I watch from the shadows, wary of the light she emits.
V
She eats raw, smooth shapes slit open, dripping with juice: sticky, clear— clear as can be for her to collect.
VI
I realize now: we’ve already met, years ago in a hushed hall where she offered to read the lines on my hand— long before she emerged, a peculiar moth, flying freely, indifferent to the glow of all others.
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Robert Allen © 2023
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