through the gate, its hinges split, its handle smooth
her sober hands through the rushes
their tingling spikes, their hollow stems
her stumbling soul, her form moves as
a skipping stone, the force that lets it stutter
over silent lake, that bids it sail, there, there
the air that holds her, that looms wonder shadows
the moon lights the stalk, rush candles
their starry glow, tug and tow
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