"Blood
It burns with buried light. It is a soil
rich with iron brought to melting point
and cooled to the clandestine warmth
of lanterns. Spread thin, it is as tenuous
as testimony from a blanching face;
yet testimony nonetheless,
this stream that carries like a folded note
your family name. One day that stream could be
the ink with which you sign your life away.
Still, let us take a moment to exalt
the oneness of your scarlet ocean’s salt
tenacity—it circles even now…
A crime that it should ever end in billows
pooling, crawling across the floor, a tarred
ghost. Ironic that the tide should end
almost as slow, and almost the shade
of sundowns."
—Huck Astley


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