Starker than the pink of a laboratory rabbit’s eye the rowan is warning me. I made a mound to your memory, a circle of berries set in a garden of ash.
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Aloft in the branches of a wintertorn oak sole in my swaddled kingdom. No one to take of my luminous berries. My brinewater babies, blanched white and plump that I offer to the sultry sky.
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I have left prayers on squares of silk tied to your branches; whispered over water. Desires that burn my tongue and womb.
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