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SENDING MEN BACK TO THE SEAKnowing how it always ended--Calypso's flute wobbled with grief, and she slid into C-sharp minor, looking down at whichever one slept, braided in lavender. They came as regularly as the footsteps of raindrops, bringing a dot of crystal for her to hang from each ear. As she played, spiders slipped from their webs, and a tiny shell inside, a familiar grief, split in half, and the hero kept sleeping and sighing like an old dog. Absently, she took off one piece of starlight, and wedged it into the man's tight fist. She sighed, remembering the joy of being alone except for the tides, and closed her eyes tinted with weariness. |
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Issue #19, March, 2001 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.