The silt-slipped skin off a mounded barrow clouding inlets as the rain carries a wet dust down, tears mixed with mud on my cheeks. Deckled edges—oak and cottonwood leaves turning to coal, slime mold tumuli, drowned grass. A slick of algae greases where I stand, so I straddle a tine of tarnished water—a rill forking from creek into river—unsteady on a fallen branch. (The crows above me all see how the river bisects me, how it seeps right through me, all the chambers of my heart.)
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