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Sarah Westcott

February

A single ivy leaf floats
over the darker field of green
when she comes here to the edge.

She hefts a harp across the water.
A note is rung, over and under.
She looks to the surface for confirmation,

follows branches with her eye, contingent.
There is dead stuff in here, she says,
There is much living to do.

The air rolls over and through her hair.

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issue five

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