LIL —

I pass through the space
Upright and silent
Her mother
The wind on
My back

Hushed tones
Ripen and press

Our eyes and breath
Flutter together
Along the jetty

Throned and washed
Throughout by
Force



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TALC
Suspended children
flee a building burning permanent
persuaded and dissuaded
out of the dank
into the fray
weeping and
waving
in vain.
_
Pikthall is a writer.
Talc illustration

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