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Aug 2020
Asleep on the deck
of burning ships
whose prows leave a wake
behind like a slow death

I see the white backs
of strange women, sea widows
breathing like low thunder
on the other side of some river

They dream of ghost sailors
aboard ships, and pull the sheets
between their legs, like a flag
flying in the fog, a dark wind.
r
Written by
r  NC
(NC)   
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