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Ghost or angel, you never leave me.
You cinch my waist like the skirt of scales
I slipped out of. Breathing becomes
labored, like gulps of air a swimmer takes
head–turned. Tonight, I decide to stay
in the husk of a woman; to peel over bruises.
What’s left of me, the inside part, the round
eye of seed and fruit, sees only you.
Although I cannot touch you, though
I tire of calling your name, what sad
fury, what waiting, what want sharks around me
in a circle. If I survive: row
my way again to shore. The vultures, mad
with fever, will smell a new life crowning.