Capsize

How the head fits
where the sulucli fill with water.
Off damp hands to the matter.
If the ridges match
and the fist a lobe
we cannot pray
or fold.

Be with us again
where the wicker stays
above the paraffin,
where we might hold the gall
an allowance in change.
Silent, weeping,
dust motes between the toes
I am home.

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