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  • Writer's pictureHannah Hinsch

Water Rose

Updated: Jul 28, 2021

Light pours from my back,

woven into my hair.

Mine is the name you call

in the lake of night, these waters I walk

having left the boat you sawed

and dusted with your breath.

Roses open at my step--

a trail of nard

at the shattered edge.

Borne on water

buoyed on candlelight

I touch your wingtip

and fall.

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