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| iii. On the other side of the snapshot the outline of beach stiff as grave ghosts through: your name scratched in thick ink still smears my thumbs smudges the blank space where I should be. iv. I lift my empty hands in front of me like a deaf girl holding out her broken ears.  |
v. Where there are finally no more stones I find your bones the color of silt. I walk away a barnacled girl still heavy with your legacy. vi. Just where the beach turns to something else something with opening arms I drop my ears two thin shells,  |
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