Puddle Rituals This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

February 8, 2018
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We’re not done yet, you remind me. New life shivers into every
grieving rainstorm. Waking up to the clink of windchimes in the fog,
there is nothing I can be but grateful.
The telephone wire sings a dirge of slow rot and self-control.
A centipede inches across my windowsill-
legs moving to the drip of a melting waltz.

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