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39 Ivory Faces of the Court A flower and yet not a flower: Of mist, and yet not of mist. —Yuan Chen The dream water deer with the cloud collar leapt through the open bedroom window to become a stone, and the sound of footsteps embroidering the current rushed toward the boy who overshot the bird still teetering on the branch. ƒ It was half-sleep, gold silk, the hem of a Chinese emperor brushing over her hair and shoulder in a courtyard scattered with fallen apples and wild baby pigs. ƒ Shaken out of dust, the chosen one leans in against his neck, and proceeding into a glare of nerves or hair-like wind, an oath sweetens on her neck. Eyes tighten against the sun: heavenly swans coasting under a bridge of thriving tea roses. A monarch’s pride hovers on satin, his first born son above the pearled ratchets of a royal carriage. 40 ƒ Fully awake, the scent of scorched rice and rainwater. ...

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