image by author.

dead reckoning.

Robert Rado

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picking up her pulverised bones,
neatly sealed in a plastic bag,
raking in handfuls of sand
on the beach
and setting it all airborne
— leeward.

hearing your feet hesitate,
saying ‘perennial’ for the sake of
saying something,

and allowing yourself to be hurt,
to be forgiven
and welcomed
in a place where
you probably don’t belong.

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