where this has nothing to do with me

Reaching for the wind in the branches,

tickles fingertips like a feather on your thigh.

In the water, you plumb the sea for cloaks of stingrays –

the ripples cradling your body.

You lay there until your feet and hands looked like crumpled paper,

body a breathing corpse

having  been diving for coins like a fish trapped in a well.

Nothing stays buried – your hands belong in the shadows.

I never thought I would see you here in this place

where words are cheap and lies are free.

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