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287 From the Page to the Pen Ophelia Drowning Carol Berg I had no idea he would be so warm the water this other Hamlet greenly stitching me into my twilight blanket my deepening blanket How his wriggling words grip me with their hooked thumbs and glittery fingers His ropey tongues tugging my spinning flesh My hair blurs out my dress he muddies Me in my watery yesterdays He is my foaming lullaby He tastes of red feathers fluttering in snares He shudders into me like a buzzing star Tucks me into incandescent sheets He murmuring is blue promises He is my is my is my I am spreading into I am almost home ...

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