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wave factor Underneath in limbo, there’s only the thought of the corpse resurfacing. Sound down there is muffled, the ear funnels a higher frequency. The drowned can’t lean over to care, can’t take in the surround. Water is a cushion, the currents girdle the skin, sanction every pore. Numbers of bodies ride the transverse motion, legs elevated. It’s a kind of prayer: their whole mass levitating, then sinking. There’s no reparation for what the lake gives them—muddy bottom, rain dimpling above, trout finning through. Permanent static, no summons, no wish but to breach or settle. 8 ...

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